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UCSB   LIBRARY 


FOREIGN  FACTS  AND  FANCIES 


BY 


Annie    Sawyer  Downs,  Charlotte   S.  Fursdon, 
Mary     Gay     Humphreys,    Culling     Clive 
Eardley,    Rose    G.  .Kingsley,    Rev.    S. 
W.   Duffield,    D.  D.,    Arthur    Gil- 
man,  Julian   B.   Arnold,  David 
Ker,   Lucy    G.    Lillie,    Mrs. 
Raymond    Blathwayte. 


ILLUSTRATED 


BOSTON 
D.    LOTHROP    AND    COMPANY 

FRANKLIN    AND    HAWLEY    STREETS 


Copyright,  1SS6, 

by 

D.    Lothrop   &    Company. 


CONTENTS. 

Page. 

Child-Life  in  Venice.     {In  Two  Parts.)  7 

Annie  Sawyer  Downs. 
Footprints  in  the  Snow       ...  59 

Charlotte  S.  Fursdon. 

Fourth  of  July  in  the  Rue  Petit  Jean.  85 

Mary  Gay  Humphreys. 

An  International  Episode  .         .  94 

Culling  Clive  Eardley. 
The  Jackdaws  of  Kenilworth      .         .         105 

Rose  G.  Kingsley. 
Hermannus  Contractus    .     .         .         .         122 

Rev.  S.  W.  Duffield,  D.  D. 
A  Worthy  Nine     .         .         .         .         .         131 

Arthur  Gilman. 

A  Dahabeeah-Wreck  on  the  Nile      .         144 
Julian  B.  Arnold. 

A  School  in  the  Faroe  Islands         .         162 

David  Ker. 
The  Princess  Beatrice  .        .        .         171 

Lucy  C.  Li  Hie. 
Our  Royal  Neighbors  at  Sandringham.         201 

Mrs.  Raymond  Blathwayte. 
An  Argentine  Independence  Day       .         222 

Arthur  F.  J.  Crandall. 
The  Alps  and  Their  Avalanches       .         237 

C.  E.  Andreius 


CHILD-LIFE    IN   VENICE. 

PART  I. 

THE  idea  of  children  does  not  readily  occur 
to  the  stranger  in  Venice.  Why  should  it  ? 
Are  not  its  citizens  born  into  the  world  men  and 
women,  with  faces  beyond  their  years  ?  Do  its 
narrow,  crooked  passages,  hardly  worthy  the  name 
of  streets,  constantly  interrupted  by  steep  bridges 
over  sea  channels  lined  with  aged  palaces,  between 
whose  marble  walls  the  silent  tides  steal  ever  on- 
ward like  the  march  of  fate,  furnish  any  play- 
grounds for  boys  and  girls  ? 

So  when  I  stood,  very  early  the  morning  after 
my  arrival,  in  the  great  Piazza  of  St.  Mark's,  no 
thought  of  childhood  was  in  my  mind. 

I   thought   instead    of    the   mystic-winged   lion 

poising   himself   on  his  soaring  column ;    of  the 

rose-colored  mass  of  the   Doge's  palace  with  its 

exquisite    marble    arcades ;    of     Nero's    colossal 

7 


8  CHILD-LIFE   IN    VENICE. 

bronze  horses  over  the  doorway,  in  the  grand 
Oriental  front  of  the  ancient  basilica  ;  of  the  glis- 
tening mosaics,  the  marvellous  carvings,  above  all 
of  the  unfathomable  depths  of  blue  sky  over  me. 
and  the  equally  unfathomable  depths  of  blue  watei 
at  my  feet.  And  this  singular  beauty,  which  nc 
picture  had  ever  revealed,  no  book  had  ever  shown, 
was  silent.  Neither  sound  of  hoof  nor  roll  oi 
wheels,  nothing  but  the  plash,  plash  of  the  ever- 
moving  water,  and  the  soft  croon  of  innumerable 
pigeons. 

And  what  dissipated  my  reverie  ?  Why,  the 
merry  laugh  of  a  Venetian  baby !  Yes,  the  only 
other  figure  in  the  stately  square  was  that  of  a 
young  and  comely  nurse,  who  carried  tenderly  in 
her  strong  arms  the  first  child  I  saw  in  Venice. 
She  came  through  the  Piazetta,  that  little  passage 
which  leads  from  the  great  square  t 3  the  water, 
and  in  her  dark  red-trimmed  skirt  long  white 
apron  with  its  great  bow  behind,  black  bodice,  and 
quaint,  tight-fitting  cap,  was  as  significant  embodi- 
ment of  the  every-day  life,  which  in  spite  of  unique 
situation,    and    unparalleled    surroundings,    is   as 


CHILD-LIFE    IN    VENICE. 


much  the  heritage  of  Venice  as  of  the  most  ordi- 
nary European  city.  The  pigeons  saw  her  sooner 
than  I,   and  when  a  couple  swept  down  as  if  to 


light  on  her  broad  shoulders,  the  baby  put  up  his 
tiny  fingers  to  catch  them,  and  not  succeeding, 
laughed  instead.  How  that  laugh  rang  through 
the  shadowy  arches,  how  it  took  possession  of 
them,  so  that  I  heard  it  ever  after,  must  be  left  to 
the  imagination.  But  this  baby  though  a  beauty 
was  not  of  the  Venetian  type.     His  blonde  hair, 


IO  CHILD-LIFE    IN    VENICE. 

blue  eyes,  and  fair  skin,  contrasted  strongly  with 
the  gleaming,  surprising  loveliness  of  the  next 
child  whom  the  accidents  of  sight-seeing  caused 
me  to  notice. 

The  Piazza  of  St.  Mark's  is  as  much  the  centre 
of  the  religious  as  of  the  social  life  of  the  city, 
for  its  crowning  glory  is  the  church  of  St.  Mark. 
Marvellous  upon  its  exterior,  it  is  no  less  marvel- 
lous within,  appealing  more  strongly  to  the  religious 
element  than  any  other  church  in  the  world.  Its 
doors  stand  open  day  and  night,  prayer  never 
ceases  within  its  walls,  and  the  sacrament  is  con- 
stantly adored  upon  its  altar.  Therefore  there  is 
an  endless  crowd,  old  and  young,  women  and  sol- 
diers, children  and  priests,  continually  passing 
through  its  nave.  In  fact,  so  accustomed  are  the 
people  to  the  most  familiar  use  of  the  church,  that 
I  often  saw  the  market-woman  set  down  her  heavy 
basket  in  the  vestibule,  or  the  vender  of  fried  fish 
deposit  the  yoke  upon  which  his  wares  were  hung 
at  the  entrance  doors.  From  a  little  narrow  street 
which  elbowed  St.  Mark's  on  the  north  many  busy 
mothers  emerged  to  rush  across  the  square  and 


CHILD  LIFE    IN    VENICE.  II 

say  a  hasty  prayer  in  the  church.  These  mothers 
never  had  any  baby  carriages,  but  they  pushed  the 
little  ones  before  them  in  a  queer  sort  of  cage,  akin 
to  what  in  remote  parts  of  New  England  is  even 
now  called  a  "  standing  stool." 

These  standing  stools  are  high  enough  to  come 
under  the  baby's  arms  and  allow  his  feet  to  rest 
on  the  floor.  Being  larger  at  the  bottom  than  the 
top,  the  support  is  firm,  and  the  wheels,  fastened 
securely  to  the  base,  allow  the  child  to  push  himself 
along.  It  is  very  convenient  to  use  this  old-time 
contrivance  in  Venice,  as  the  squares  and  many 
streets  are  paved  with  great  blocks  of  white  mar- 
ble, smooth  and  level  as  a  drawing-room  floor. 

One  morning  a  mother  left  her  baby  in  his  stool 
at  the  principal  entrance  of  St.  Mark's.  I  do  not 
know  if  she  prayed  longer  than  usual,  or  if  he 
thought  it  a  good  opportunity  to  go  off  a  little 
on  his  own  account,  but  he  began  to  roll  himself 
around.  Nearly  opposite  where  he  was  left,  on 
the  east  side  of  the  square,  is  a  paved  street  not 
more  than  seven  feet  in  its  widest  part,  and  upon 
whose  every  side  shops  are  set  as  thickly  as  pos- 


12  CHILD-LIFE   IN   VENICE. 

sible.  I  was  picking  my  way  gingerly  amid  its 
fruit  sellers,  fish  dealers,  and  shell  venders,  when 
loud  shouts  and  hearty  laughing  made  me  turn 
sharply.  The  little  Venetian  traveller  was  coming 
right  down  upon  me.  Doubtless  the  square 
slanted  a  trifle,  for  his  rapid  motion  left  his  hurry- 
ing mother  far  behind.  His  short-sleeved  blouse 
showed  his  plump  brown  arms,  while  the  funny 
cap,  embroidered  with  shells  instead  of  beads,  per- 
mitted us  to  see  how  his  gleaming  eyes  laughed  to 
their  dusky  depths  as  he  shook  defiantly  in  the 
air  the  odd  toy  he  sturdily  held  close  in  his  wild- 
est flight.  After  him  still  clattered  his  irritated 
mamma.  On  account  of  her  high-heeled  shoes 
she  could  not  run  very  fast,  but  there  was  little 
need,  for  a  good-natured  water-carrier  stretched 
out  his  brawny  arms  and  the  runaway  was  captured. 
I  have  called  this  narrow  alley  of  St.  Moise  a 
street,  for  there  are  streets  in  Venice,  and  one  may 
walk  all  over  the  city  if  one  chooses.  But  the 
real  streets  of  Venice  are  its  salt  water  canals, 
upon  whose  banks  its  famous  churches,  finest 
palaces,  and  most  interesting  monuments  are  sit- 


A   SWIMMING    LESSON. 


CHILD-LIFE   IN   VENICE.  15 

uated.  These  water-streets  are  navigated  day  and 
night  by  gondolas,  a  kind  of  boat  whose  form  has 
been  as  curiously  adapted  to  its  purposes  of  in- 
stant obedience  as  that  of  a  bird's  wing.  It  must 
draw  very  little  water,  carry  almost  any  weight, 
shelter  its  passengers,  move  lightly,  stop  instantly, 
turn  as  on  a  pivot,  glide  like  a  serpent  in  and  out 
of  every  cranny,  in  short,  obey  not  so  much  an  or- 
der as  a  hint.  It  is  long,  slender,  and  very  high 
from  the  water  at  both  ends.  Bow  and  stern  are 
sharp,  and  the  former  ends  in  a  beak,  or  flat  steel, 
which  towers  to  a  considerable  height.  This 
deeply-serrated  blade  of  steel  is  an  ornament,  but  it 
is  useful  as  well,  for  by  it  the  gondolier  steers,  and 
under  whatever  bridge  it  passes,  he  knows  his  black 
cabin  in  the  centre  will  pass  too.  The  danger 
of  collision  obliges  him  to  face  the  bow  and,  as 
he  never  uses  but  one  oar,  he  pushes,  not  pulls. 
The  cabin  is  often  removed  and  an  awning  put  up, 
which  may  in  its  turn  be  dispensed  with,  when 
one  has  full  view  of  the  pale-faced,  black-eyed 
beauties  as  they  take  their  twilight  airing.  Gon- 
dolas, like  cabs,  are  numbered  and  licensed,  and 


1 6  CHILD-LIFE   IN   VENICE. 

it  is  said  there  are  now  four  or  five  thousand  in 
this  strange  city  of  the  sea.  They  are  black  from 
stem  to  stern,  the  law  having  regulated  their  color 
for  centuries.  The  necessity  of  the  law  is  evi- 
dent ;  for  we  read  that  nobles  and  citizens  vied  so 
with  each  other  to  be  finest,  that  whole  families 
were  brought  to  poverty. 

Realizing  that  Venetian  cabs  are  boats,  and 
Venetian  streets  are  canals  which  rise  and  fall 
every  tide,  we  are  prepared  to  hear  that  Venetians 
themselves  take  all  their  pleasure  on  the  water. 
So  they  do  now,  and  have  done  for  ages.  When 
Naples  has  welcomed  royal  guests  with  brave 
horse  races  on  the  Corso,  when  Rome  has  honored 
Pope,  or  Cardinal,  with  a  gorgeous  procession, 
Venice  has  summoned  the  splendid  barges  of  the 
Republic  and  taken  her  guests  to  her  palace-lined 
canals.  Was  it  a  victory  —  then  they  decked  the 
Doge's  boat  with  flags  from  Lepanto.  Was  it  a 
poet  —  then  they  brought  out  the  banner  which 
floated  over  the  barge  of  the  illustrious  Petrarch, 
when  with  acclamation  they  rowed  him  over  the 
shining  waves  of  the  Giudecca.     Or,  holiest  of  all, 


CHILD-LIFE   IN   VENICE.  1 9 

at  the  great  Feast  of  the  Sacrament,  the  sacred  em- 
blem of  St.  Mark,  and  the  trophies  blind  old  Dan- 
dolo  brought  from  the  Holy  Sepulchre.  A  dozen* 
times  in  a  summer  they  have  a  grand  regatta  ;  and 
good  children  are  taken  in  a  gondola  to  see  the  fun, 
just  as  in  America  they  go  to  the  circus.  The 
month  we  were  in  Venice  there  was  a  famous 
regatta  to  welcome  the  young  Queen  of  Italy. 
Hundreds  of  boats  started  from  the  Grand  Canal, 
rowed  around  the  gilded  plumed  gondola  where 
the  Queen  sat,  then  made  their  way  to  the  Rialto 
bridge  where  they  turned  and  glided  slowly  back. 
Each  black  hood  was  removed,  and  festoons  of 
pink  and  salmon,  orange  and  violet,  red  and  green, 
blue  and  white,  so  changed  the  mystic  fleet,  that 
it  is  little  wonder  we  likened  it  only  to  the  storied 
boat  which  bore  King  Arthur  to  Avalon.  The 
band  played  during  the  entire  pageant,  and  the 
lovely  music  floated  out  on  the  Lagoons  and  was 
lost  in  the  cry  of  the  sea-gulls  over  the  Lido. 

Each  was  in  holiday  dress,  which  in  Italy  means 
all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow;  everybody  was  polite 
to  the  two  strangers  who  had  come  "  so  far  to  see 


20 


CHILD-LIFE    IN    VENICE. 


their  beautiful  Venice."  No  police  were  visible, 
and  although  skillful  rowers  must  have  been  much 
annoyed  by  awkward  ones,  we  heard  no  angry 
words.     After  a  little  we,  too,  took  a  boat,  that  we 


c)r£vNe- 


might  see  the  effect  from  its  level.  The  gondolas 
looked  particularly  fine  as  we  thus  watched  them 
from  the  stream.  Standing  so  high  on  the  narrow 
platforms  at  the  stern,  with  their  long  oars  bending 
hither  and  thither,  they  resembled  a  field  of  slender 
rushes  waving  in  the  wind.  Opposite  the  Royal 
Gardens,  with  much  of  the  most  interesting  aidii- 
tecture  of  Venice  in  view,  we  came  upon  a  gondola 


CHILD-LIFE    IN    VENICE.  21 

load  of  children,  who  like  ourselves  were  going 
home  from  the  regatta.  Their  tall  slim  gondolier, 
bursting  unexpectedly  upon  us,  recalled  the  classic 
charioteer  urging  his  horses  in  the  antique  games. 
Standing  with  one  foot  behind  the  other,  and  with 
outstretched  arms,  he  seemed  to  skim  the  water. 
His  attention  was  given  to  steering  his  craft  amid 
the  scows  which  pressed  upon  him,  but  his  freight 
of  children  were  too  happy  even  to  look  any  more. 
For  once  the  eager  eyes  had  seen  enough,  for  a 
time  at  least  the  restless  little  hearts  were  satisfied, 
and  we  had  no  doubt  in  many  a  distant  northern 
home  as  they  gathered  by  the  evening  fire  that 
cheeks  would  flush  and  eyes  sparkle  as  they  told 
of  the  regatta  that  midsummer  day  in  Venice. 
And  who  can  tell  what  such  days  in  Venice  are 
to  the  children  of  the  poor  to  whom  summer  is  the 
only  luxury  ?  Then  boys,  even  street  boys,  are 
crazy  with  joy.  for  they  have  riot  only  air  but  water 
in  which  to  be  mischievous.  It  is  no  trouble  for  a 
boy  to  go  swimming  in  that  city  of  the  sea.  Every 
high  arched  bridge,  no  matter  how  serpentine  the 
canoe  beneath,  may  be  turned  into  a  swimming 


22 


CHILD-LIFE    IN    VENICE. 


school,  every  kind-hearted  father,  uncle  or  brother 
serves  for  a  teacher,  and  as  each  novice  is,  or  may 
be,  provided  with  some  kind  of  a  float,  there  is  no 
apprehension  of  danger.  From  the  beginning  of 
June  far  on  into  September,  the  boy-part  of  Venice 
is  far  oftener  in  the  water  than  out,  where  they 


A   VENETIAN   GIRL. 


either  shout  and  clamor  to  each  other,  or  poise 
themselves  for  a  leap  from  any  friendly  doorstep  ; 
and  as  the  Venetian  bathing  dress  is  a  mere  hint  of 
thV  elsewhere  worn,  you  are  never  tired  of  admir- 


CHILD-LIFE    IN    VENICE.  23 

ing  the  fine  statuesque  limbs,  bronzed  by  the  too 
kindly  sun. 

Many  a  time  as  I  have  stood  watching  those 
happy  boys  I  have  wondered  at  details  of  the  ar- 
chitecture about  me,  which  in  every  place  ap- 
peared more  inexplicable  than  in  every  other.  The 
chimneys  especially  I  never  could  understand.  I 
never  saw  two  alike  —  some  rose  tall  and  slender 
from  the  lofty  houses,  with  a  tapering  stem  a  yard 
or  more  in  length,  and  with  a  top  resembling  a 
tulip.  Others  looked  like  the  watch  towers  of  a 
mediaeval  castle,  and  still  others  expanded  into  so 
wide  an  opening  that  you  thought  of  a  sunflower. 

And  not  only  do  boys  swim  as  much  as  they  like, 
not  only  do  they  take  gondolas  when  sent  on  the 
commonplace  errands  which  in  other  cities  de- 
mand street  cars,  but  they  often  own  tiny  boats 
themselves  wherein  to  paddle  from  one  side  of  the 
street  to  the  other.  Has  a  boy  left  his  arithmetic, 
does  his  mother  send  him  for  his  missing  handker- 
chief —  I  suppose  there  are  boys  in  Venice  who 
have  handkerchiefs,  though  I  never  met  one  —  then 
he  slips  the  painter  of  his  frail  canoe  which  looks  as 


24  CHILD-LIFE   IN    VENICE. 

if  it  had  just  come  from  the  hands  of  the  toy-ma- 
ker and  glides  away  noiselessly,  gracefully,  like  an 
Indian  boy  of  the  Adirondack  forest.  Sometimes 
our  gondola,  following  one  of  these  fairy  boats, 
would  penetrate  into  the  very  heart  of  a  row  of 
lofty  houses,  now  perhaps  hotels,  warehouses  or 
factories  where  glass,  beads,  and  mosaic  pictures 
are  made.  But  whatever  their  present  use,  what- 
ever their  ancient  splendor,  they  had  always  a  high 
marble  wall,  with  its  feet  in  the  cooling  water  and 
its  top  gay  with  the  bright-colored  plants  in  which 
Venice  delights. 

A  stunted  fig  or  plum-tree  often  showed  itself  in 
the  precious  garden  which  extended  between  the 
wall  and  the  palace,  whose  actual  entrance  was 
upon  a  much  statelier  canal.  Merry  groups  of 
children  were  always  seen  on  these  old  walls. 
Here  they  sheltered  themselves  from  the  burning 
sun  of  noon,  here  they  fondled  their  pets,  sailed 
their  toy  boats,  and,  if  well  to  do  in  purse,  threw 
soldi  to  their  less  fortunate  neighbors,  who  dived 
and  brought  the  coins  out  of  the  shallow  water. 
Another  shower  of  coins  often  rewarded  one  of 


A  VENETIAN    BACK-DOOR. 


CHILD-LIFE    IN    VENICE.  27 

these  brown-limbed  clivers,  if  he  was  sufficiently 
dexterous  to  climb  a  tall  mooring  post  and  bow 
his  thanks  from  its  top. 

In  a  dark  twisted  alley  at  the  side  of  one  of 
these  palaces  lived  pretty  Bianca,  the  daughter  of 
our  laundress.  We  should  have  called  her  home 
a  cellar,  and  only  sharp  eyes  could  detect  any  con- 
venience for  cooking  or  washing.  The  light  came 
in  by  the  door,  and  the  fireplace  was  simply  an 
elevated  table  of  stone  upon  which  the  scanty  fire 
was  made.  As  wood  is  very  dear  in  Venice,  two 
or  three  twigs  costing  a  cent,  three  or  four  cents' 
worth  is  supposed  to  be  enough  to  warm  such  a 
home  as  Bianca's  the  coldest  day.  The  only  arti- 
ficial light  ever  seen  within  its  narrow  limits  was  the 
tiny  taper  which  burned  always  before  the  picture 
of  the  Blessed  Virgin. 

But  the  twelve-year-old  Bianca  was  merry  and 
light-hearted  enough  to  chase  the  gloom  from  the 
dingiest  home.  Her  ebon  hair  knotted  low  be- 
hind as  if  she  were  already  a  woman,  her  liquid 
eyes  which  in  spite  of  their  fun  seemed  to  hold  all 
the  sadness  of  the  past,  and  her  nose  with  the  ex- 


28  CHILD-LIFE    IN    VENICE. 

quisite  curve  of  a  Greek  Venus,  might  have  been 
found  in  many  of  her  neighbors  ;  but  nobody  had 
Bianca's  bewitching  smile,  nobody  had  her  ringing 
laugh,  and  certainly  nobody  could  sing  like  Bianca. 
Up  and  down  the  alley  she  flitted,  and  her  "  Viva 
Italia"  quickened  the  beat  of  many  a  heart,  and 
when  at  nightfall  the  fishermen's  children  went 
out  to  the  Lido  that  their  evening  hymn  might 
guide  their  fathers  over  the  treacherous  Adriatic, 
no  voice  like  Bianca's  to  lead  the  chorus ! 

Yet  neither  her  glossy  hair,  her  lovely  eyes,  nor 
her  unequalled  voice,  was  Bianca's  pride.  But 
she  was  proud  —  she  went  to  school !  Schools 
for  the  poor  are  new  in  Italy,  and  with  tears 
did  Bianca  tell  me,  that  not  only  did  she  read 
and  write,   but   she    actually  studied   arithmetic. 

And  if  she  thought  herself  lucky,  what  did 
Nello,  the  polenta  and  pumpkin  seed  seller  just 
across  the  street,  think  ?  He  was  poorer  than 
Bianca,  though  no  older ;  for  he  had  no  place  to 
sleep  nights,  excepting  the  water-step  of  any  un- 
occupied warehouse,  and  he  only  earned  enough 
money  in  the  day,  including  what  he  ate  himself,  to 


CHILD-LIFE   IN    VENICE.  29 

pay  for  his  wares.  His  clothes  were  very  scanty,  his 
only  cap  a  ragged  red  one  which  he  wore  on  Sun- 
days ;  but  he  had  picked  up  somewhere  a  string  of 
the  many-tinted  shells  of  the  Lido,  and  his  one 
passion  was  Venice,  his  one  admiration  Bianca. 
"  It  is  well  the  dear  Signora  should  see  our  Venice; 
she  is  the  pearl  of  the  world ;  and  as  for  Bianca  — 
ah,  how  beautiful  she  is,  how  she  can  sing,  and 
is  she  not  clever  —  she  even  knows  the  arith- 
metic ! " 

One  Sunday  Nello  was  among  the  crowd  of 
children  who,  in  the  Square  of  St.  Mark's,  were 
feeding  the  sacred  pigeons.  I  knew  how  often 
the  poor  boy  went  hungry,  and  was  touched  to  see 
him  pull  from  the  sleeve  of  his  tattered  blouse  a 
bit  of  polenta  he  had  saved  from  his  supper ;  he 
never  had  any  breakfast.  Although  the  plump, 
comfortable  birds  are  fed  at  the  public  expense, 
not  a  child  in  Venice  but  longs  to  have  something 
of  his  own  to  give  them.  This  feeling  is  shared 
by  the  whole  population  ;  for  when,  in  1849,  Ven- 
ice was  besieged  by  the  Austrians  and  reduced  to 
famine,  no  one  thought  of  touching  the  doves  of 


30  CHILD-LIFE    IN    VENICE. 

St.  Mark's.  Although  grain  was  so  scarce  that 
men  fought  in  the  streets  for  a  morsel  of  food, 
the  pigeons  were  never  deprived  of  their  supply 

They  owe  this  good  fortune  to  the  virtue  of  their 
ancestors.  When  Dandolo,  early  in  the  thirteenth 
century,  was  besieging  Candia,  some  pigeons 
brought  him  good  tidings,  and  he  in  turn  dis- 
patched news  of  his  success  to  Venice  by  the 
same  white-winged  telegraph. 

Since  then  it  is  imagined  that  the  doves  fly 
three  times  around  the  city  in  honor  of  the  Trinity, 
and  that  while  they  are  protected,  Venice  will 
never  be  swallowed  up  by  the  waves. 

It  is  one  of  the  prettiest  sights  in  the  world, 
when  in  the  square,  they  are  fed  each  day  a  lit- 
tle past  noon.  They  are  perfectly  fearless,  for 
any  one  who  injures  a  pigeon,  is  first  fined,  then 
imprisoned  ;  so  from  the  nooks  and  crannies  of 
surrounding  buildings,  even  from  the  wondrous 
facade  of  St.  Mark's,  they  descend  like  snow- 
flakes,  to  take  food  from  childish  hands;  and 
often  a  shriek  of  ecstacy  is  heard  as  one  swiftly 
stoops  for  the  kernel  of  corn  on  a  baby's  lips. 


A 


^        *si        fcH 


W"^^^ 


FEEDING    PIGEqNS    IN   ST.    MARK'S   SQUARE. 


CHILD-LIFE    IN    VENICE.  33 

Their  meal  over,  they  perch  again  on  the  domes 
of  St.  Mark's,  they  flutter  undismayed  about  the 
granite  column  where  St.  Theodore  stands  on  his 
crocodile,  and  they  nestle  close  to  the  terrible 
winged  lion  who  for  ages  has  watched  the  rising 
and  falling  of  the  opal  waves,  thus  adding  by  the 
grace  of  their  continual  flight  another  beauty  to  a 
spot  which  of  all  others  needs  it  least. 


PART   II. 

"\  7"ET  the  Piazza,  or  great  square  of  St.  Mark's, 
-*-       is   not   the   only  open  space  in  the  city; 
though  as  if   to  give  its  noble  architecture  due 
honor,  the  others  are  called  ca?npi,  or  fields. 

Churches  are  frequently  situated  upon  these 
smaller  squares,  or  campi,  and  in  the  Middle  Ages 
were  surrounded  by  vast  conventual  buildings. 
They  vary  in  interest  as  in  beauty. 

One  I  remember  for  its  soft  green  turf,  the 
religious  and  heavenly  loveliness  of  its  Gothic 
church,  and  the  mellow  sunshine  which,  penetrat- 
ing to  the  very  heart  of  every  block  of  marble,  dis- 
closed the  rose  and  purple,  the  violet  and  orange, 
that  centuries  of  exposure  to  the  bitter  air  of  the 
sea  had  rendered  ordinarily  invisible.  Another 
was  famous  for  a  noble  equestrian  statue,  another 
34 


CHILD-LIFE    IN.  VENICE.  35 

because  Desdemona  lived  in  a  house  on  its  cor- 
ner, and  a  fourth,  because  tradition  asserts  that 
there  Titian  and  Tintoretto  among  its  crowd  of 
beggars  and  idle  loiterers  looked  for  models. 

Roaming  aimlessly,  we  came  unexpectedly  one 
day  upon  Signor  Antonio  Rioba,  who  has  been  for 
generations  the  Venetian  embodiment  of  practical 
joking.  Signor  Antonio  is  only  a  rough  stone  fig- 
ure set  in  the  wall  of  a  provision  shop,  with  a  pack 
on  his  back,  a  staff  in  his  hand,  and  a  coarsely 
painted  face.  He  is  always  surrounded  by  a  crowd 
of  laughing  boys,  who  receive  with  shouts  of  deri- 
sion any  stranger,  young  apprentice,  or  green  serv- 
ing-man who  has  been  directed  to  bring  a  parcel 
to  the  Signor.  As  there  is  a  bell  handle  above  the 
Signor's  name,  the  glee  of  the  boys  is  uncontrol- 
lable when  the  simpleton  gravely  pulls  it.  But 
Signor  Antonio  is  memorable  to  us,  because  at  his 
elbow  we  saw  what  I  am  positive  is  the  ugliest 
campo  in  Venice.  It  is  that  of  the  Ghetto,  or  Jew's 
quarter.  During  the  Middle  Ages  no  Jews  were 
permitted  to  live  outside  its  limits,  and  while  the 
law  has  long  since  fallen  into  disuse,  it   is   still 


^O  CHILD-LIFE    IN    VENICE. 

densely  populated  by  the  poorer  class  of  Hebrews 
as,  owing  to  its  vile  and  unhealthy  situation,  rents 
are  very  low,  and  nobody  interferes  with  the  filth 
in  which  they  delight.  We  went  down  some  steep, 
narrow  stairs  to  find  ourselves  in  the  middle  of  a 
small  space,  only  partly  paved  with  broken  brick 
and  completely  walled  in  by  tall  houses  in  various 
stages  of  decay.  A  hideous  wooden  bridge  crossed 
a  slimy  canal  into  just  such  another  space,  but 
filled  with  sellers  of  what,  even  in  Venice,  must  be 
called  rubbish. 

The  entire  population  of  both  squares  appeared 
to  be  out  of  doors,  but  the  nature  of  their  employ- 
ment determined  the  identity  of  the  spot.  All 
were  picking  geese,  excepting  a  few  of  the  boys 
who  were  dragging  half-denuded  specimens  round 
by  the  legs,  or  throwing  the  disgusting  web  feet 
which  had  been  cut  off,  at  each  other.  As  the  fat 
of  geese  is  indispensable  in  Jewish  cookery,  it  was 
perhaps  a  necessity  that  this  disagreeable  con- 
dition of  things  should  exist ;  but  having  no  wish 
to  endure  it,  we  eagerly  hailed  a  boat  on  the  dirty 
crooked  canal.     Our  perplexity  as  to  the  best  way 


p 


ON    THE    RIVA. —  A   WATER   VENDER. 


CHILD-LIFE    IN    VENICE.  39 

out  of  the  unpleasant  mass,  evidently  delighted  the 
staring  urchins ;  and  just  when  we  thought  we  saw 
a  safe  path,  one  boy,  whose  laughing  eyes  indi- 
cated his  comprehension  of  the  situation,  dropped 
the  contents  of  a  ragged  apron  which  he  wore  over 
his  greasy  trousers,  and  turned  a  somersault  in  their 
midst,  covering  us  from  head  to  feet  with  the  fluffy 
particles  !  The  joke  was  against  us,  but  he  looked 
so  impishly  mischievous  that  we  laughed  with  him, 
and  threw  him  a  couple  of  very  small  copper  coins. 
He  deserted  his  goose-dragging  at  once,  and  before 
we  embarked  was  playing  mora  on  the  steps  of  the 
landing,  with  a  youth  as  handsome  and  audacious 
as  himself.  Venetian  boys  and  men  as  well,  all 
play  mora,  the  simplest,  though  I  should  judge  by 
the  emotion  it  excites,  the  most  effective  gambling 
game  known  to  civilization.  The  players  throw 
out  two,  three,  or  four  fingers  with  the  celerity  of 
thought  and  if  the  opponent  calls  out  the  correct 
number  the  stakes  are  his. 

Two  or  three  times  a  week  all  Venice  goes  to  the 
Lido,  for  the  Lido  is  the  seashore,  to  bathe.  It  is 
a  long  narrow  strip  of  sand,  stretching  between  the 


4-0  CHILD-LIFE    IN    VENICE. 

lagoon  in  which  Venice  is  situated,  and  the  Adri- 
atic. Only  half  a  mile  wide,  almost  all  strangers 
walk  across  for  the  seaward  view;  but  Venetians 
frequent  only  the  side  nearest  the  city.  Entire 
families,  servants  and  cats  included,  pass  the  whole 
day  there,  taking  bath  after  bath,  gathering  the 
scarlet  poppies  everywhere  abundant,  and  looking 
for  the  brilliant  shells  which  in  their  musical  tongue 
they  call,  "flowers  of  the  sea." 

Steamers  cross  every  half-hour  from  the  Riva, 
but  the  fashionable  way  is  to  go  in  one's  own  hired 
gondola.  Friends  vie  with  each  other  in  the  beauty 
of  their  boats,  the  gay  costume  of  their  gondoliers, 
and  the  tasteful  dress  of  the  children  and  nurses. 
It  is  upon  such  pleasure  trips  that  two  gondoliers 
are  employed.  Only  one  is  necessary ;  the  second 
is  purely  an  adjunct  of  luxury,  a  fitting  accompani- 
ment to  the  gilded  chains,  the  exquisite  carving  and 
the  polished  steel  beak  of  the  excursion  boat.  Prob- 
ably there  are  never  any  showers  in  Venice,  for 
even  the  babies  sit  in  the  uncovered  gondolas  with 
bare  heads,  although  the  mothers  sometimes  wear 
a  little  lace  veil,  and  the  nurses  always,  a  huge 


CHILD-LIFE    IN    VENICE.  4 1 

comb  set  around  with  gold,  silver,  or  glass  beads. 
It  is  a  white  day  to  the  fishermen's  children  of  the 
Lido  when  these  visitors  from  Venice  give  them 
the  fragments  of  their  luncheon.  They  all  are 
sallow,  ragged  and  dirty,  but  they  have  large  soft 
eyes,  delicately  cut  lips,  small  feet  and  hands,  a  be- 
witching archness  of  manner,  and  how  hungry  they 
are  !  Their  fathers,  costumed  as  if  for  a  picture, 
in  wooden  slippers  having  toes  only,  heavy  brown 
stockings  reaching  to  the  knees,  and  high-colored 
wool  caps,  do  not  disdain  to  assist  their  families  in 
disposing  of  the  bounty  of  the  stranger,  and  when 
there  is  nothing  more  to  eat,  gallantly  escort  their 
benefactors  to  the  boats,  mounting  the  delighted 
baby  on  the  shoulders  of  the  tallest. 

Is  Venice  a  little  late  in  returning  from  the  Lido? 
Then  Venice  will  land  at  the  Riva  de  Schiavoni, 
the  stone  quay  nearest  the  Piazza  of  St.  Mark.  The 
glorious  full  moon  may  have  arisen  to  shed  its  ten- 
der lustre  over  basilica,  palace,  and  Campanile,  and 
to  diffuse  over  the  noble  square  additional  life 
and  gayety.  The  hoary  porphyry  lions  at  the  side 
of  the  church  bear  always  a  heavy  freight  of  boys, 


42  CHILD-LIFE    IN    VENICE. 

who  select  the  position  as  a  convenient  place  to 
hear  the  band,  and  from  whence  to  make  frequent 
dashes  at  any  innocent-looking  victims  who  may 
give  them  a  copper.  Venetian  ladies,  who  carry 
their  parasols  as  much  in  the  evening  as  in  day- 
time, have  a  way  of  lowering  them  so  they  never 
see  these  importunate  beggars.  The  trick  looked 
easy,  but  as  I  tried  it  many  times  and  never  suc- 
ceeded, I  conclude  it  requires  great  art. 

The  street  trades,  which  in  this  quarter  some- 
times languish  by  day,  are  after  nightfall  endowed 
with  new  vigor.  You  may  have  your  boots  blacked, 
or  buy  a  flower  for  your  buttonhole,  grapes,  melons, 
figs,  tomatoes,  shell  necklaces  and  bracelets,  a  lit- 
tle picture  of  the  Virgin,  a  small  blue  lobster  or  a 
large  red  crab.  The  last,  if  you  are  unsophisti- 
cated enough  to  eat  it,  will  cause  such  thirst  that  no 
matter  what  opinion  you  hold  as  to  its  danger,  you 
will  buy  a  glass  of  the  " acqua,  acquafresca" every- 
where offered  you  for  one  centime.  The  boys  who 
sell  water  are  one  of  the  most  distinctive  features 
of  the  place.  You  cannot  rise  so  early,  nor  retire 
so  late,  that  you  will  not  hear  their  cry.     Fortu- 


-%x 


AT   A   GATEWAY. 


CHILD-LIFE    IN    VENICE.  45 

nately  Venetian  voices  are  low  and  pleasant,  un- 
like those  of  Italians  elsewhere. 

The  water  of  St.  Mark's,  considered  the  only 
wholesome  water  in  Venice,  is  always  offered  you 
(no  matter  from  whence  it  really  comes)  and  is 
borne  from  place  to  place  in  a  large  leathern  bottle 
strapped  to  the  shoulders.  In  one  hand  is  carried 
a  low  stand  with  openings  for  glasses  and  bottles 
of  essences  wherewith  to  flavor  to  please  the  cus- 
tomer. Anise  seed  appeared  to  be  the  favorite 
with  the  boys  of  whom  we  bought  water,  and  a 
more  insipid  compound  it  would  be  difficult  to  imag- 
ine. The  water  boys  earn  between  one  and  two 
francs  a  day,  and  have  regular  routes  and  stations. 

Dwelling  houses  are  usually  supplied  by  women, 
who  wear  a  peculiar  uniform  according  to  the  lo- 
cality from  whence  their  water  comes,  and  as  they 
are  in  some  sense  under  police  surveillance,  it  may 
be  possible  to  know  what  you  are  drinking.  The 
women  who  obtain  their  supply  from  the  wells  in 
the  courtyard  of  the  Doge's  Palace  wear  a  short 
skirt,  a  black  cotton  velvet  bodice  with  white 
linen  sleeves,  and  a  gay  kerchief  about  the  neck. 


46  CHILD-LIFE    INT    VENICE. 

A  Tyrolese  hat  of  felt  with  a  bunch  of  bright  flowers 
completes  the  costume,  for  they  are  either  quite  bare- 
footed, or  their  unstockinged  feet  are  thrust  into 
very  slipshod  sandals.  Generally  strong  and  slen- 
der of  figure,  they  are  often  very  handsome  with  blue- 
black  hair,  and  piercing  eyes,  and  in  their  pictur- 
esque dress  are  one  of  the  prettiest  sights  of  Venice. 
They  carry  two  brass  kettles  on  the  ends  of  a  flat 
piece  of  wood,  curved  like  a  bow,  which  is  bal- 
anced from  one  shoulder,  and  in  one  hand  hold 
a  rope  to  lower  the  kettles  into  the  well,  and 
with  the  other  they  gracefully  protect  their  skirts 
from  damp.  We  never  wearied  of  standing  on  the 
magnificent  staircase  of  the  Doge's  Palace  and 
looking  down  into  the  courtyard  with  its  two  mar- 
vellously wrought  well-heads  surmounted  by  brazen 
altars,  where  scores  of  boys  and  women  came  for 
their  stock  in  trade.  They  dabbled  and  splashed 
in  the  most  primitive  fashion,  dropping  their  cans, 
filling  them  to  overflowing,  then  jerking  them  up 
only  to  spill  their  contents  ;  laughing  and  gesticu- 
lating all  the  time  like  the  fauns  and  dryads  of 
whom  they  reminded  us. 


JNETIAN   STREET    COBBLER    AND    HIS   APPRENTICES. 


CHILD-LIFE    IN    VENICE.  49 

Wells  however,  though  numerous,  do  not  half 
supply  the  present  city.  Artesian  wells  add  a  vast 
number  of  gallons  each  day,  and  pipes  of  recent 
origin,  laid  across  the  railroad  bridge  from  the 
mainland,  are  in  constant  use.  One  of  the  most 
difficult  problems  to  solve,  was  how  a  city  built  as 
Venice  is,  could  obtain  water,  but  so  satisfactorily 
did  her  founders  dispose  of  it,  that  while  she  has 
often  suffered  for  food  when  besieged,  she  never 
has  been  reduced  to  straits  for  water. 

From  the  Doge's  Palace  through  the  busy  street 
of  the  Merceria  to  the  Rialto  is  a  gay  and  cheerful 
walk.  What  a  place  for  shopping  is  the  Merceria ! 
Beads  from  Murano,  turquoise  ornaments  from  the 
Orient,  mosaics  recalling  Byzantium,  gold  chains  of 
Venice,  slender  delicate  goblets  with  serpents  en- 
circling their  stems,  winged  lions  for  charms,  rings 
which  break  your  heart,  with  their  "  Remember 
Venice,"  all  tempt  you  as  you  never  were  tempted 
before  The  Merceria  brings  us  out  at  the  Rialto, 
the  island  upon  which  ancient  Venice  was  situated, 
and  which  has  always  been  the  centre  of  commerce 
as  St.  Mark's  has  of  art.     Shylock  says : 


50  CHILD-LIFE    IN    VENICE. 

Signor  Antonio,  many  a  time  and  oft 
In  the  Rialto  you  have  rated  me 
About  my  moneys. 

In  1180  the  first  bridge  connecting  the  island 
with  the  land  on  the  right,  was  built,  taking  the 
place  of  the  bridge  of  boats  before  used.  The  ex- 
isting one  was  begun  in  1588,  and  the  Venetian 
ambassador  entertained  Queen  Elizabeth  with  a 
lively  description  of  its  splendors.  At  present  its 
footway  is  lined  with  shops  and  its  parapet  is  the 
favorite  spot  to  sell  coarse  felt  hats.  At  its  steps 
all  sorts  of  boats  discharge  all  sorts  of  cargoes  — 
cabbages,  squashes,  cucumbers,  onions,  beans, 
crimson  gourds,  and  scarlet  fish  baskets  with  silver 
and  gold  fish  wrapped  in  green  leaves.  But  the 
painted  sails  of  the  fishing  boats  are  most  dazzling 
to  our  Northern  eyes,  for  they  are  orange  and  pur- 
ple, scarlet  and  blue  Everybody  clamors  at  the 
top  of  the  voice,  everybody  tries  to  drive  a  sharp  bar- 
gain ;  and  you  marvel  how  in  the  deafening  roar  the 
curious  statue  of  a  hunchback,  II  Gobbo  di  Rialto, 
retains  his  composure.  He  gazes  thoughtfully  upon 
the  crowd,  patiently  bearing  on  his  shoulders  the 


CHILD-LIFE    IN    VENICE.  53 

stone  platform  from  whence  the  laws  of  the  Re- 
public were  once  proclaimed. 

The  Rialto  bridge  is  as  much  common  property 
as  is  the  square  of  St.  Mark's.  Boys  dive  from  its 
railing,  clamber  out  of  the  water,  only  to  dive  again, 
and  scruple  not  to  walk  on  their  sunburned  toes, 
directly  across  stout  swarthy  fishermen  asleep  in 
the  shade.  The  streets  are  very  dark  in  the  Rialto 
neighborhood,  and  all  goods  are  brought  out  of 
doors  for  examination,  and  while  you  see  much 
artistic  work  you  wonder  at  it,  so  clumsy  are  the 
tools  and  handled  in  the  most  inconvenient  and 
awkward  manner.  Once  watching  a  cobbler  who 
presumably  was  teaching  his  apprentices  to  last  a 
shoe,  we  were  amazed  to  see  him  hurl  the  wooden 
form  at  one  of  the  grinning  boys.  The  cobbler's 
dialect  was  outside  our  learning,  but  we  gathered 
from  our  gondolier  that  the  boy  had  a  brother 
who  was  a  priest,  and  that  the  master,  an  old  Gari- 
baldian,  thought  little  of  the  clergy.  Rowing  to 
the  doorway  we  saw  the  shrine  of  the  Blessed  Virgin 
was  empty,  and  that  a  rough  print  of  Victor  Eman- 
uel covered  the  carved  head  of  a  stone  saint,  and 


54  CHILD-LIFE   IN    VENICE. 

concluded  he  might  be  that  cobbler  who,  when 
Venice  celebrated  her  reunion  with  Italy,  being  too 
poor  to  buy  a  flag,  suspended  before  his  door 
great  strips  of  red,  white  and  green  paper,  writing 
on  the  white,  "  We  will  die  for  Italy  /" 

But  if  the  Rialto  is  the  entrance  to  many  crooked 
canals,  to  many  mean  houses  and  shops  only  inter- 
esting because  they  show  how  the  very  poor  may 
live,  it  conducts  as  well  to  many  a  stately  water- 
way, where  are  lovely  entrance  gates,  on  whose 
steps  are  now  crouching  exulting  bathers  instead 
of  the  liveried  menials  who  once  obsequiously 
awaited  the  arrival  of  their  haughty  lords.  The 
beauty  of  many  of  these  gates  is  beyond  words. 
The  delicate  vines  which  soften  the  rough  outline 
of  the  aged  arches,  the  surmounting  vases,  the 
Gothic  windows,  even  the  glowing  crabs  which 
cling  like  weather-beaten  manners  to  the  black- 
ened and  wave-washed  steps,  all  imperatively  de- 
mand the  vivid  colors  of  Carpaccio,  Giorgione,  and 
Canaletto. 

We  may  perhaps  say  of  the  crabs  that  they  are 
so  abundant  they  are  the  cheapest  food  in  Venice, 


CHILD-LIFE   IN   VENICE.  55 

enough  being  sold  for  a  cent  to  afford  the  hungri- 
est child  a  dinner.  Indeed  the  aristocratic  cats 
who  haunt  the  water  entrances,  scorn  them,  partak- 
ing instead  of  such  unnatural  diet  as  corn,  grapes, 
and  watermelons.  From  the  earliest  time  these 
large  handsome  cats  have  held  the  place  in  the  af- 
fections of  Venetians,  usually  given  to  dogs.  Con- 
sequently they  are  not  timid,  shy,  as  in  other  cities  ; 
but  gaze  with  great  interest  on  the  life  of  the 
street,  and  walk  statelily  along  after  children  of 
high  and  low  degree.  Probably  they  owe  their  ex- 
traordinary beauty  to  the  Persians  and  Angoras 
brought  home  by  the  voyaging  shipmasters  of 
whom  Marco  Polo  tells,  and  at  any  rate  their 
dignity  and  gravity  accord  well  with  the  traditions 
of  a  seafaring  race.  They  are  much  prized  by  the 
sacristans  and  vergers,  and  at  the  glass  factories  of 
Murano  every  room  pointed  proudly  to  its  especial 
pet.  Often  when  the  factory  boat  comes  from  the 
island  with  its  freight  of  beads  to  be  strung  by 
women  and  little  girls,  a  fine-haired,  glossy  and 
plump  kitten  will  choose  that  way  to  see  a  little  of 
the  world.     Watching  the  curious  intentness  with 


^6  CHILD-LIFE    IN    VENICE. 

which  he  looked  at  the  unlading  of  the  hampers, 
we  fancied  he  possessed  the  secret  of  the  first 
fugitives  who  brought  to  these  sea-girt  sands  the 
mysterious  art  of  making  glass.  Instead  of  soli- 
tary and  individual  labor,  hundreds  of  persons 
are  now  employed  in  the  different  departments  of 
the  art,  and  instead  of  the  shoemaking,  and  sew- 
ing of  custom  clothing,  familiar  to  us,  many  fam- 
ilies eke  out  their  only  too  certain  income  by 
stringing  the  beads  whose  manufacture  is  eagerly 
investigated  by  every  tourist.  Stringing  beads 
tries  eyes  and  wears  nerves ;  but  in  Venice,  as 
everywhere,  if  the  poor  would  eat  they  must  work. 
Only  during  the  Carnival  season  does  the  ease- 
loving  southern  temperament  rebel.  Then,  no 
matter  how  large  are  the  orders  waiting  to  be 
filled,  the  head  stringers  will  not  touch  a  bead. 

Ah,  happy  bead-stringers  of  Venice,  you  may  be 
cold,  hungry,  and  tired,  but  you  will  never  see, 
vanishing  from  your  receding  gaze,  the  grace  and 
the  glory  of  Venice  !  For  Venice  is  an  enchantress  ; 
Venice  is  the  goblet  of  Scandinavian  story,  in 
which  the  loveliness  of  the  universe  is  mirrored. 


FOOTPRINTS    IN    THE 
SNOW. 

AT  one  end  of  a  garden  in  the  West  of  England, 
stands  a  many-roomed  rambling  vicarage. 
It  is  covered  with  creepers.  Myrtles  as  thick  as 
ivy  grow  over  the  gables,  while  pomegranates,  mag- 
nolias and  camellias  flourish  in  the  garden.  Such 
flowers  and  plants  love  the  warm,  soft  atmosphere, 
and  everybody  can  see  them ;  but  the  most  pre- 
cious things  in  the  garden  are  hidden,  and  only 
those  who  see  the  garden  no  more,  know  where 
they  lie.  Old  memories  cling  to  every  tree,  every 
path,  every  stone  and  corner  of  this  Home  of  the 
past.  Memories  that  make  those  who  know,  think 
of  the  garden  much  as  Adam  and  Eve  must  have 
thought  and  longed  for  their  lost  Eden. 

In  the  days  that  are  no  more,  even  the  passers- 
by,  the  sojourners  of  a  day,  were  struck  by  its 
59 


60  FOOTPRINTS    IN   THE   SNOW. 

beauty  and  its  peace.  Those  who  were  once  chil- 
dren there,  remember  seeing  a  white-haired  clergy- 
man come  out  of  the  house  one  afternoon,  and  as 
he  walked  down  the  path,  they  paused  in  their 
play,  for  they  knew  that  this  visitor  was  the  holy 
Mr.  Keble,  who  had  written  the  hymn  they  said 
every  night : 

When  the  soft  dews  of  kindly  sleep 
My  wearied  eyelids  gently  steep, 
Be  my  last  thought  how  sweet  to  rest 
Forever  on  my  Saviour's  breast. 

He  also  paused  and  smiled,  then  reverently  took 
off  his  hat,  and  said  in  a  low  voice  : 

"  Children  and  flowers." 

He  seemed  doubly  pleased  when  the  little  ones 
took  a  short  cut,  and  were  ready  to  hold  the  mea- 
dow-gate open  for  him. 

This  garden  was  the  Children's  Kingdom,  and 
here  they  reigned  supreme,  with  the  exception  of 
one  hour  on  Sunday,  when  the  Holy  Sacrament 
was  being  celebrated,  which  they  were  learning 
about  in  the  Catechism.  The  vicarage  was  so  near 
the  church,   that  their  mother   feared   the  eager 


FOOTPRINTS    IN   THE   SNOW.  61 

voices  might  be  heard,  and  with  secret  awe,  the 
children  remained  quietly  in  the  house. 

The  flower  garden  was  a  flat  piece  of  ground. 
Two  long  terraces  crossed  each  other  at  right  an- 
gles, with  white  vases  at  the  corners.  The  middle 
walls  led  from  a  deep  porch  with  oak  pillars,  round 
a  large  clump  of  shrubs,  and  then  down  a  slope, 
where  the  grass  was  kept  like  velvet,  to  a  white 
bridge.  This  spanned  what  in  Devonshire  is  called 
a  "  goyle,"  through  which  a  cheerful  stream  tumbled 
and  bubbled;  some  of  the  big  stones  baying  back 
the  water  into  dark,  silent  pools,  where  the  trout 
lay  on  hot  summer  days.  From  the  bridge,  the 
path  crossed  the  meadow-to  the  church. 

Two  kitchen  gardens  with  their  espaliers  and 
groves  of  raspberries,  and  an  adjoining  orchard, 
made  first-rate  places  for  hide-and-seek.  On  one 
side  of  this  happy  garden  was  a  small  seacoast 
town,  and  on  the  other  the  woods  and  grounds  of 
the  kind  Squire,  who  gave  the  children  leave  to 
wander  where  they  liked.  Primrose,  mushroom, 
acorn  and  nut-pickings  are  all  splendid  things  at 
the  right  time ;   but  the  beach  with  its  long,  gray 


62  FOOTPRINTS    IN    THE   SNOW. 

waves,  fringed  with  white  foam,  was  generally 
their  favorite  walk.  Here  they  could  dig  for  un- 
known treasures.  Here  they  might  find  gold  or 
jewels  tossed  up  from  wrecks,  and  waifs  and  strays 
from  tropical  shores.  Nothing  seemed  impossible. 
Perseveringly  and  hopefully  they  toiled,  though 
shells  and  sea-weeds  were  their  only  harvest. 

Among  the  many  memories  gathered  in  the  home 
just  described,  some  incidents  occurred  in  the  win- 
ter of  1855,  that  left  a  lasting  impression  upon  the 
minds  of  these  children. 

It  had  been  a  very  cold  winter.  Even  in  the 
West  of  England,  the  snow  fell  heavily,  and  the 
ponds  froze  hard  enough  for  skating.  But  the  cold 
was  little  thought  of,  compared  to  the  sympathy 
felt  for  the  sufferings  of  the  allied  armies  in  the 
Sebastopol  trenches.  The  younger  members  of  a 
family  are  soon  infected  with  the  enthusiasm  of 
the  elders,  and  the  discussions  of  politics  and  Cri- 
mean War  news  down-stairs,  were  warmly  echoed 
in  the  nursery  and  schoolroom.  The  children  were 
also  able  to  turn  their  interest  to  good  account,  by 
helping  to  roll  bandages  and  making  lint  for  the 


FOOTPRINTS    IN   THE   SNOW.  63 

wounded.  Great  bales  of  old  linen  went  off  from 
Combehaven,  and  on  an  appointed  day  a  constant 
run  of  people  of  all  ages  and  ranks,  came  and  went 
at  the  Public  Rooms  with  their  various  offerings. 
What  a  medley  those  bales  were  !  The  finest 
lawn  sheets  and  coarse  aprons  and  shirts,  old 
dresses  and  the  children's  new  big  doll's  trousseaux, 
with  the  seams  cut  out,  all  went  together  to  fulfil 
the  work  of  love. 

The  winter  was  nearly  over.  The  children  thought 
they  had  said  good-by  to  snow-balls,  and  were 
looking  out  for  catkins.  It  was  eight  o'clock  on 
the  evening  of  the  seventh  of  February,  and  they 
were  sitting  round  a  table,  with  their  drawing  and 
needlework,  while  their  mother  read  aloud  to  them 
Shakespeare's  play  of  the  Merchant  of  Venice. 

The  younger  ones  could  no  more  remember 
when  they  first  heard  Shakespeare  read,  than  they 
could  the  time  when  they  began  to  eat  bread  and 
butter.  This  evening  there  was  a  dispute  over  the 
Casket  scene.  Clara  did  not  like  Portia's  picture 
being  found  in  the  leaden  casket.  She  thought 
the  silver  casket  would  have  been  so  much  prettier. 


64  FOOTPRINTS   IN   THE   SNOW. 

But  Janet  explained  that  it  was  sure  to  have  been 
in  the  leaden  casket,  because  it  was  the  ugly  duck- 
ling who  became  the  swan,  and  it  was  always  the 
third  brother  who  won  the  princess. 

In  the  middle  of  the  argument  the  vicar  and 
his  three  curates  came  in  tired  out,  after  a  parish 
meeting,  and  declaring  that  it  was  cold  enough  for 
snow. 

Baby  was  fretful  with  her  teeth,  and  woke  up 
Clara  in  the  night,  and  though  nurse  and  baby 
were  soon  asleep  again,  not  so  the  little  girl.  Very 
softly  she  crept  out  of  bed,  and  over  to  the  window. 
A  white  garden  lay  under  the  moon.  Raindrops 
glittered  on  the  panes,  but  the  clouds  were  disap- 
pearing beyond  the  woods.  Across  the  snow  came 
the  sound  of  the  church  clock  striking  four.  A 
branch  of  banksia-rose  tapped  against  the  window, 
and  shivering  she  stole  back  to  her  warm  little  bed, 
next  the  baby's  bassinette.  In  a  few  minutes  the 
nursery  was  stillness  itself  ;  and  without  —  snowy 
nights  are  always  still. 

The  following  morning  four  basins  of  bread  and 
milk  were  on  the  breakfast  table,  and  the  sun,  too 


FOOTPRINTS    IN   THE    SNOW.  65 

bright  to  last,  shone  on  the  silver  and  china.  The 
mother  presided  over  the  party,  and  checked  the 
hum  of  voices,  that  might  disturb  her  husband,  as 
he  waded  through  a  pile  of  letters  and  papers.  The 
door  burst  open,  and  in  came  the  brown-headed 
darling  of  the  house,  little  Harry,  regardless  of 
ruri-decanal  business,  shouting: 

"  A  donkey  has  been  in  my  garden  !  " 
"  How  can  that  be  !  "  exclaimed  his  father,  going 
to  the  window  and  putting  up  his  gold  eyeglasses. 
All  down  the  long  path,  hoof-marks  in  the  snow 
were  visible. 

"  Did  John  see  the  donkey,  Harry  ?  " 
"  No,  he  jumped  over  the  garden  wall." 
"  My  dear  boy,  the  wall  is  a  great  deal  too  high 
for  a  donkey  to  jump." 

"  He  did,  father,  I  saw  his  hoofs." 
The  door  opened  again,  and  one  of  the  curates 
was  announced,  apologizing  for  his  early  call. 

"  I  have  come  to  tell  the  vicar  of  a  most  extraor- 
dinary occurrence.  An  utterly  unknown  animal 
has  been  passing  through  the  town  during  the 
night." 


66  FOOTPRINTS    IN   THE   SNOW. 

"  Do  you  mean  the  donkey  that  has  invaded  our 
garden  ? "  asked  the  vicar. 

"  It  is  impossible  for  it  to  be  a  donkey,"  answered 
the  young  curate.  "  A  donkey  could  not  have  been 
over  the  whole  town  in  one  night,  into  every  court, 
every  alley,  and  even,"  he  added,  lowering  his  voice 
mysteriously,  "  on  the  roofs  of  several  houses." 

"  My  dear  Hayes,  What  romance  have  you  got 
up  now  ? " 

"  It  is  no  romance,  I  assure  you,  sir.  Will  you 
come  out  and  see  for  yourself  ?  " 

"  May  I  finish  my  breakfast  in  peace  first  ?  " 
asked  the  vicar,  smiling. 

Mr.  Hayes  turned  to  the  ladies,  and  told  them 
that  the  whole  population  was  out  on  the  track  of 
this  animal,  that  nothing  seemed  to  have  impeded 
its  progress,  for  the  marks  came  up  to  high  walls, 
and  appeared  on  the  other  side,  as  if  it  had  given  a 
'  prodigious  leap. 

"  That  is  just  what  Harry  says  of  the  marks  in 
the  garden,"  said  Miss  Chapman  the  governess. 

Breakfast  being  ended,  the  seniors  of  the  party, 
including  Maude,  the  eldest  girl,  proceeded  to  the 


FOOTPRINTS    IN   THE   SNOW.  67 

garden,  while  the  children  watched  them  from  the 
deep  window-seats  in  the  nursery.  They  were  soon 
joined  by  one  of  the  church-wardens  and  two  other 
men,  who  walked  up  the  path,  carefully  keeping 
on  one  side  of  the  footprints.  The  snow  was  crisp 
with  a  morning  frost.  In  the  meantime  several 
maids  had  been  in  and  out  of  the  nursery,  each 
with  a  fresh  surmise  to  tell  nurse.  The  butcher's 
boy  said  that  it  was  a  kangaroo,  escaped  from  a 
travelling  menagerie  ;  and  by  the  time  the  laun- 
dress came  the  kangaroo  had  grown  into  a  tiger. 
This  raised  a  panic  in  the  nursery,  in  the  midst  of 
which  the  door  was  thrown  wide  open,  and  in 
stalked  little  Harry. 

"  It's  a  ghost,"  he  said  in  a  conclusively  matter- 
of-fact  tone. 

"  Nonsense,  Master  Harry  !  you  are  not  to  say 
such  things  to  the  young  ladies."  And  nurse 
poked  the  fire  violently,  her  usual  plan  for  changing 
the  conversation.  On  this  occasion  the  poker  had 
no  effect,  the  interest  was  irrepressible. 

"  Who  said  it  was  a  ghost  ? "  asked  Janet. 

"  O,  father  or  Mr.  Jones." 


68  FOOTPRINTS    IN    THE   SNOW. 

"  You  know  quite  well,  sir,  that  master  never 
said  nothing  of  the  sort,"  maintained  nurse. 

"  Well,  then  it  was  Mr.  Jones,  and  he  says  it 
must  be  a  ghost,  because  it  comes  straight  from  the 
churchyard  to  our  door." 

"There's  no  such  thing  as  ghosts,"  said  nurse. 

"  Yes,  there  are  !  "  exclaimed  Janet,  "  there's 
Banquo's  ghost." 

The  children  laughed  merrily  when  nurse  an- 
swered : 

"  I  never  heard  of  no  such  gentleman  in  Combe- 
haven.  And  now,  young  ladies,  you  ought  to  go 
to  your  lessons." 

"  Miss  Chapman  is  out  in  the  garden  with  Maude 
and  Mr.  Hayes,"  said  Harry,  still  superior  in  his 
information. 

"  Always  about  with  somebody,"  muttered  nurse, 
who  with  her  thousand  good  qualities,  was  pro- 
foundly jealous  of  the  governess. 

At  this  moment  their  mother's  step  was  heard, 
and  the  children  rushed  to  open  the  door  for  her. 
To  their  astonishment,  they  found  that  she  also 
was  puzzled.     Up  to  this  time  they  believed  that 


FOOTPRINTS    IN   THE   SNOW.  69 

their  parents  knew  everything,  that  they  could 
make  plain  every  question  in  their  minds ;  and  it 
was  truly  bewildering  to  find  that  their  mother 
could  not  at  once  tell  them  what  the  animal  was. 

Before  they  had  time  to  tell  her  all  the  foolish 
things  they  had  heard,  Miss  Chapman  was  calling 
Janet  and  Clara  in  her  most  decisive  manner,  which 
made  them  run  off  at  once.  Clara  had  only  just 
begun  lessons  in  the  schoolroom,  and  found  great 
difficulty  in  remembering  what  she  ought  not  to 
forget,  but  to-day  she  had  to  begin  to  learn  the 
much  more  difficult  task  of  trying  to  forget  what 
she  ought  not  to  remember.  In  fact,  these  foot- 
prints sent  Clara's  French  verb  into  a  hopeless 
condition.  In  vain  Miss  Chapman's  voice  urged 
her  on  with  "fetait,  I  was,  ///  etait,  thou  wast."  It 
sounded  to  her  like  the  jar  of  a  distant  bell;  and 
it  certainly  was  trying  for  Miss  Chapman  in  her 
turn  to  find  that  instead  of  getting  up  a  fresh  spurt, 
Clara  answered  her  with  a  question  as  to  whether 
kangaroos  always  hopped,  or  whether  they  some- 
times walked. 

Luncheon  was  no  help  at  all.     The  presence  of 


70  FOOTPRINTS    IN   THE   SNOW. 

a  gentleman,  who  had  come  to  consult  their  father 
on  business,  awed  the  children  into  silence.  When 
the  footmarks  were  mentioned,  it  was  only  in  a 
discussion  as  to  the  various  lengths  of  hoofs,  and  a 
disquieting  remark  that  they  could  not  be  those  of  a 
donkey,  as  they  were  traceable  under  the  espaliers. 

Clara  was  thankful  to  hear  that  the  beach  was 
their  destination,  when  her  mother  asked  where 
the  schoolroom  party  were  going  to  walk.  The 
houses  on  the  way  thither  would  be  chances  of 
refuge,  should  they  meet  the  kangaroos,  or  still 
worse,  the  tiger.  In  broad  daylight,  at  a  prosaic 
luncheon  table,  the  ghost  had  a  very  faint  existence, 
but  the  idea  of  a  wild  beast  lurking  behind  some 
snowy  hedge,  ready  to  pounce  out  upon  governesses 
and  children,  had  assumed  an  alarming  reality. 

All  through  the  little  town,  notwithstanding  the 
passing  of  many  wheels  and  feet,  the  prints  in  the 
snow  were  everywhere,  and  Clara  felt  as  if  she 
could  hardly  drag  one  foot  after  the  other.  How 
she  longed  to  be  walking  towards  home  instead  of 
away  from  it.  Several  people  they  met  were  open- 
mouthed  with  fresh  ideas,  and  when  one  lady  sug- 


FOOTPRINTS    IN    THE   SNOW.  7 1 

gested  a  kangaroo  to  Miss  Chapman,  she  was 
promptly  reminded  that  a  kangaroo  has  claws  and 
not  hoofs. 

Till  now  it  had  been  some  comfort  to  Clara  to 
think  that  a  kangaroo  was  harmless,  however  hor- 
rid it  might  be  hopping  over  a  hedge  close  by  ; 
and  not  daring  to  ease  her  mind  by  consulting  Miss 
Chapman  as  to  a  tiger's  feet,  she  now  decided  that 
if  it  was  not  a  kangaroo,  it  must  be  a  tiger. 

The  walk  was  accomplished  without  any  wild- 
beast  encounters,  and  still  Clara  could  not  find  an 
opportunity  of  pouring  out  her  troubles  to  her 
mother.  Lessons  filled  up  the  rest  of  the  afternoon 
until  tea  time,  and  in  the  evening  several  friends 
were  added  to  the  home  party. 

Mrs.  Hamilton,  a  dear  old  lady  of  eighty,  who 
lived  in  a  cottage  full  of  pictures  and  rare  old 
china,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  road  from  the 
vicarage,  came  first,  then  Mr.  Norton  and  Mr. 
Danby,  two  of  the  curates,  and  Mr.  Danby's  pupil, 
a  very  black  Prince,  who  had  come  to  England  to 
finish  his  education.  This  Prince  made  a  great 
pet  of  Clara,  and  sitting  on  his  knee,  examining 


72  FOOTPRINTS    IN   THE   SNOW. 

th.2  gold  embroidery  of  his  waistcoat  and  the  jew- 
elled buttons  that  fastened  it,  her  attention  was 
diverted  from  the  footprints.  Besides  which  he 
was  teaching  her  some  French  sentences,  and  his 
tight  black  curls,  and  the  lighter  color  of  the  skin 
between  his  fingers,  were  a  source  of  never-failing 
interest  to  her. 

He  was  always  happy  with  children,  for  the  semi' 
awe  inspired  by  the  novelty  of  his  dark  skin  made 
them  ready  to  do  what  he  liked.  In  a  general  way, 
the  difficulty  of  getting  through  life,  without  being 
thwarted,  was  a  formidable  barrier  to  his  content- 
ment. Though  he  was  a  Prince  of  twenty-three 
years  of  age,  he  frequently  behaved  in  the  same 
unreasonable  and  naughty  manner,  that  foolish 
children  of  six  or  seven  occasionally  indulge  in. 
He  would  thump  his  head  on  the  floor,  and  roar, 
when  things  went  "  contrary."  He  sulked  for  sev- 
eral hours  because  he  could  only  drive  in  "wan  lee- 
tle  machine,"  to  pay  a  call  in  the  neighborhood,  in- 
stead of  the  equipage  and  state  he  considered  his 
due  ;  and  once  when  it  rained,  and  a  cricket  match 
was  put  off,  he  rushed  up  and  down  the  room,  and 


FOOTPRINTS    IN    THE    SNOW.  J 

butted  his  tutor  with  all  his  might.  After  these 
rages  he  would  be  very  penitent,  and  the  day  fol- 
lowing the  butting  episode,  Mr.  Danby  found  a 
hard  black  ball  on  his  study-table.  It  was  some 
minutes  before  he  discovered  that  it  was  a  peace- 
offering.  A  lock  of  the  Prince's  hair.  Not  a  lock, 
but  many  curls,  rolled  up  tight  together,  unti:  it 
was  almost  a  solid  mass. 

Before  he  left  England,  he  attained  to  a  great 
increase  of  self-control,  though  he  did  not  live  long 
to  practise  the  good  he  got  from  his  kind  tutor ; 
for  soon  after  he  returned  to  his  own  country,  a 
mob  rushed  into  his  palace  during  some  tumult. 
He  was  dragged  out  to  a  neighboring  hill,  and 
beheaded,  without  trial  or  chance  of  defence. 

On  the  special  evening  after  the  discovery  of  :he 
footprints,  the  Prince  was  a  great  comfort  to  Clara, 
as  he  quite  distracted  her  attention  for  the  time. 

Bedtime  came  all  too  soon,  and  with  it  her  ter- 
rors. The  wind  sounded  like  a  wild  beast  roaring 
past  the  windows,  and  howling  in  the  chimney; 
and  being  a  very  foolish  little  girl,  each  gust 
worked  her  into  a  greater  fever. 


74  FOOTPRINTS    IN    THE   SNOW. 

The  two  nurseries  were  connected  by  a  door, 
which  was  always  left  open  after  the  children  had 
gone  to  bed,  and  nurse  sat  in  the  outer  room  at 
work.  Her  needle-clicks,  and  two  streaks  of  light 
that  came  into  the  darkness,  the  big  streak  through 
the  door,  and  the  little  one  through  the  hinges, 
were  Clara's  great  consolation. 

Jane,  the  nurserymaid,  came  into  the  nursery,  and 
told  nurse  that  supper  was  ready.  She  seemed  ex- 
cited, and  her  voice  rose  above  a  whisper,  so  that 
Clara  heard  her  words  : 

"  Mr.  Ball  says  that  people  do  say  that  something 
came  up  these  very  stairs,  nurse,  last  night,  and 
knocked  at  the  door." 

Nurse's  answer  was  in  a  whisper,  as  she  left 
the  room,  and  Clara  shivered  so  much  that  she 
could  hardly  tell  whether  Jane  went  at  the  same 
time.  She  tried  to  listen,  but  the  wind  came 
thumping  and  tearing  at  the  window  again,  and 
when  it  subsided,  no  comforting  thimble-and-nee- 
dle  clicks  came  from  the  day  nursery. 

Bottling  up  thoughts  often  makes  people  very 
unreasonable,  and  it  had  chanced  that  there  had 


FOOTPRINTS    IN    THE   SNOW.  75 

not  been  a  single  opportunity  for  a  confession  of 
Clara's  fears  to  her  father  or  mother  all  day. 

Listening,  shivering,  gasping  with  holding  her 
breath,  she  hid  herself  under  the  clothes,  and 
jumped  up  again  by  turns,  when  she  heard  a  step 
on  the  stairs.  Yes !  It  was  coming  nearer,  the 
boards  creaked,  the  handle  turned  —  a  sound  in  the 
outer  room  —  and  then — by  the  rustle  of  a  silk 
dress,  Clara  knew  that  her  mother  was  in  the  day- 
nursery. 

A  sob  caught  her  ear,  and  she  was  by  Clara's 
bed  in  a  moment. 

"  My  darling,  what  is  it  ?  You  are  as  cold  as 
ice."  And  wrapping  the  child  in  her  little  dress- 
ing-gown, she  carried  her  to  the  fire  in  the  outer 
room.  Sobs  and  gasps  had  taken  such  hold  of 
Clara,  that  she  could  not  speak;  but  nestling  in 
her  mother's  arms,  she  felt  as  if  she  knew  every- 
thing, and  the  kangaroo,  the  tiger,  and  the  terrible 
Something,  all  vanished  at  once. 

"  My  little  Clara  has  been  frightened,  and  she 
forgot  that  God  was  taking  care  of  her." 

Then  she  told  her  mother  all  about  it. 


7 6  FOOTPRINTS    IN   THE   SNOW. 

"  It  is  very  wrong  of  people  to  say  such  foolish 
things.  Only  ignorant  people  like  Mr.  Ball,  or 
Jane,  would  believe  or  suggest  such  folly." 

"  But,  mother,  there  are  ghosts,  aren't  there  ?  " 

"  St.  Paul  says  that  we  are  in  the  midst  of  a  cloud 
of  unseen  witnesses,  but  he  says  unseen.  Evil 
spirits  come  to  us  in  the  form  of  temptations,  and 
if  we  fight  against  our  temptations,  all  terrors  will 
fly  away." 

"  Then,  mother,  is  it  a  tiger  ? " 

"  Now  just  think  for  one  minute.  If  a  tiger  had 
been  prowling  about  in  the  snow,  do  you  suppose 
he  would  have  left  all  your  father's  sheep  unhurt  ? 
An  animal  that  would  not  attack  sheep  and  lambs, 
would  not  be  likely  to  injure  human  beings." 

This  was  a  new  light  to  Clara.  Still  she  wanted 
more  explanation,  and  this  her  mother  could  not 
give  her. 

"  The  uncertainty  interests  your  father  and  me, 
but  it  does  not  frighten  us.  There  are  many  things 
in  the  world  that  are  thought  about  and  waited 
for  a  long  time,  before  anybody  understands  what 
they  mean,     God  wishes  it  to  be  so.     He  wishes 


FOOTPRINTS    IN   THE   SNOW.  77 

us  to  trust  Him,  and  at  the  same  time  to  use  the 
reason  He  gives  us,  in  trying  to  find  out  the  mean- 
ing of  His  wonderful  works." 

And  so  with  some  of  the  thousand  lullabies  of 
life,  the  mother  consoled  the  poor  frightened  little 
girl.  Then  nurse  came  back,  and  her  mother 
tucked  her  into  bed  again,  and  told  her  to  go  to 
sleep  as  fast  as  she  could,  and  remember  that  the 
angels  were  watching  around. 

The  story  of  the  footprints  speedily  got  into  the 
newspapers.  There  were  pictures  and  plans  of 
their  course  in  the  Illustrated  London  News,  and 
many  articles  and  speculations  on  the  subject. 
The  vicar  was  persecuted  with  letters  from  all 
parts  of  England.  Chamois,  green  plover,  otter, 
were  suggested  as  animals  and  birds,  which  might 
have  been  roving  and  left  some  mark.  The  otter 
opened  a  new  field,  and  one  that  Mr.  Norton  thought 
might  have  something  in  it.  In  some  of  the  marks, 
after  careful  inspection,  he  thought  he  discovered 
the  impression  of  claws  ;  but  that  the  claws  should 
be  in  what  was  apparently  the  frog  of  the  strange 
animal's  hoof,  made  a  fresh  perplexity. 


78  FOOTPRINTS    IN   THE   SNOW. 

So  the  world  and  the  wise  men  puzzled  on,  and 
suggested  and  argued,  and  doubted  and  contra- 
dicted, until  the  war  took  away  the  object  of  their 
discussions,  except  in  some  shady  nooks.  The  nine- 
days'-wonder  was  dying  away  among  the  greater 
interests  of  Crimean  war  news. 

A  sunny  day  brought  a  great  treat  for  the  chil- 
dren. Harry  and  Clara  were  to  go  for  a  walk  with 
their  father.  He  had  so  little  time  to  spare,  that 
it  was  quite  a  red-letter  day  event.  Even  now  the 
walk  was  on  duty,  as  he  had  to  visit  a  sick  person 
at  the  Squire's  home  farm. 

They  went  by  a  path  that  skirted  the  park,  where 
the  earliest  primroses  were  sure  to  peep.  Though 
it  was  Clara's  first  country  walk,  since  her  panic  of 
hopping  kangaroos,  and  lurking  tigers,  she  felt  no 
fear,  as  with  her  hand  in  her  father's,  she  listened 
to  the  birds'  songs  as  old  as  the  world,  of  love  and 
sunshine. 

Mr.  Culvert,  the  farmer,  greeted  the  vicar  warmly, 
and  Harry  and  Clara  amused  themselves  with  feed- 
ing the  ducks,  and  watching  them  turn  head  over 
heels  in  the  water.     When  the  visit  to  the  sick 


FOOTPRINTS    IN    THE    SNOW".  79 

servant  was  over,  Mr.  Culvert  invited  the  children 
into  the  parlour  to  have  some  bread  and  cream. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Culvert,  "  I  suppose  you  know 
what  all  these  footprints  mean  ?  " 

"  What   is  your   explanation  ?     Nobody   seems 
able  to  give  the  animal  a  right  name." 

"  I  can  give  it  to  your  honour.  Tis  a  cat." 
"  Well,  give  us  your  reasons,  Culvert." 
"  Why,  'tis  just  this,  sir.  I  went  out  on  the 
Tuesday  night  to  see  after  the  ewes.  There  had 
been  a  shimmer  of  snow,  which  stopped  afore  I 
came  outside.  Missus'  cat  came  out  along  with 
me,  and  she  prowled  'fore  just  the  way  I  was  going, 
which  was  to  say,  past  the  hayricks.  She  bided 
there  to  have  a  look  to  the  mice,  and  I  went  on  to 
the  highway.  Well,  you  see,  sir,  when  I  was  come 
out  again,  it  was  raining,  but  it  stopped  afore  I 
ever  got  home,  and  the  moon  was  shining  that  light, 
that  I  noticed  that  round  where  the  cat  had  trod, 
the  rain  had  washed  av/ay  a  bit  of  the  snow,  and 
among  my  footsteps  there  sure  enough  were  the 
hoof  marks.  In  the  morning  I  bended  my  knees, 
and  looked  close,  and  I  could  see  a  mark  like  the 


80  FOOTPRINTS    IN   THE   SNOW. 

cat's  claws  in  the  lump  of  snow  in  the  middle,  and 
the  hoof  marks  turned  away  from  mine,  when  they 
came  to  the  ricks.  I  could  show  them  to  you  now, 
as  the  lea  side  of  the  ricks  is  shady." 

"  Why  did  you  not  come  and  have  a  chat  with 
me  before,  Culvert  ?  You  would  have  saved  me 
from  writing  a  pile  of  letters.  I  have  had  inquiries 
from  all  parts  of  England." 

"  I  did  think  of  it,  sir.  Only  I  reckoned  you 
knew  the  rights  of  it  as  well  as  me,  when  you  did 
not  preach  about  it,  as  I  hear  some  parsons  have 
been  doing." 

The  vicar  smiled.  "  More  harm  than  good  is 
often  done  by  noticing  the  superstitious  imagina- 
tions of  some  people,  and  the  mere  fact  of  showing 
disapprobation  is  more  than  they  are  worth." 

The  children  hastened  home  to  tell  their  mother 
the  news.  And  Mr.  Danby  coming  in  with  the 
Prince  said,  "  This  proves  Norton's  theory  of  the 
claws.  The  position  of  the  marks  is  just  the  way 
in  which  a  cat  places  its  feet  in  walking." 

"  And  of  course  a  cat  could  climb  a  high  wall,  by 
the  help  of  fruit  trees  and  ivy,  and  everybody's  cat 


FOOTPRINTS    IN   THE   SNOW.  8l 

walked  on  everybody's  roof,  which  explains  all 
that  is  mysterious,"  said  the  mother  laughing. 

"It  was  a  remarkable  occurrence  in  the  weather, 
for  the  rain  must  have  been  slight,  and  the  snow 
was  seized  by  a  frost  immediately  afterwards,"  said 
the  vicar.  "  Culvert  thought  the  shower  fell  at  three 
o'clock.  That  accounts  for  the  untrodden  appear- 
ance of  the  snow,  saving  the  footprints,  and  the 
cats  had  it  all  to  themselves." 

"  I  know  the  rain  had  stopped  at  four  o'clock, 
father,"  said  Clara. 

"  You  knew  it,  did  you,  Miss  Puss  ?  Were  you 
out  with  the  cats  as  well  ?  " 

Everybody  looked  at  Clara,  and  she  looked  in 
dismay  at  her  mother,  who  beckoned  to  her. 

"  I  was  looking  out  of  window,  mother,  when  the 
clock  struck,  because  I  was  tired  of  Baby's  crying 
herself  to  sleep." 

Everybody  laughed  when  the  Prince  said, 

"Mees  Clara  had  de  bag  all  de  dime,  and  now 
she  do  led  de  cad  jomp." 

The  Prince,  proud  of  his  English,  always  squeezed 
in  a  joke  when  he  could  remember  one. 


82  FOOTPRINTS    IN    THE    SNOW. 

But  the  footsteps  in  the  snow  were  no  joke  to 
Clara.  They  had  been  the  cause  of  far  too  serious 
a  lesson  to  be  regarded  in  anything  but  a  serious 
light.  A  lesson  that  lasted  far  beyond  the  foot- 
prints, and  that  struck  at  the  root  of  foolish  daily 
terrors  of  being  alone,  and  nightly  shiverings  in 
the  dark,  and  helped  her  through  many  of  the  fears 
and  trials  of  older  life. 


SOME   OF    THE    LOOKERS-ON. 


FOURTH  OF  JULY  IN  THE 
RUE  PETIT   JEAN. 

THE  French  Fourth  of  July  is  July  fourteenth  ; 
the  French  Declaration  of  Independence 
dating  from  the  destruction  of  the  Bastile. 

The  Bastile,  as  many  of  you  know,  was  that 
famous  prison  in  Paris  which  to  the  French  people 
was  the  symbol  of  the  grievous  wrongs  of  many 
centuries.  Here  people  were  often  confined  with- 
out knowing  of  what  they  were  accused,  or  whom 
were  their  accusers.  Often  they  were  simply  forgot- 
ten and  lived  and  died  there.  French  history  is 
filled  with  stories  of  the  Bastile.  Many  of  you 
have  doubtless  read  of  Pelisson  and  his  spicier, 
that  story  of  patient  endurance.  When  the  Bas- 
tile was  captured  by  the  people  during  the  French 
Revolution,  and  its  doors  were  opened,  men  who 
were  imprisoned  young  came  forth  old ;  they  had 
85 


S6       FOURTH  OF  JULY  IN  THE  RUE  PET1I  JEAN. 

been  long  supposed  to  be  dead,  and  their  friends 
were  gone  and  scattered. 

It  is  not  surprising  that  the  people  believed  that 
their  liberties  could  not  be  safe  until  the  Bastile 
was  destroyed,  and  that  they  razed  it  to  the  ground. 
The  stones  were  afterward  consecrated  to  the  beauti- 
ful service  of  the  Pont  de  la  Concorde,  one  of  the 
most  noted  bridges  of  the  Seine.  The  site  of  the 
Bastile  is  now  marked  by  the  lofty  Column  of  July 
on  whose  summit  stands  the  gilded  figure  of  Liberty, 
bearing  a  torch  in  one  hand  and  in  the  other  a 
broken  chain. 

It  is  not  strange  that  the  French  Republic  has 
selected  the  memorable  day  of  the  taking  of  the 
Bastile  for  its  National  Fete.  But  you  will  be  sur- 
prised to  know  that  they  do  not  celebrate  it  with 
cannon,  fire  crackers,  and  toy  revolvers.  It  is  a 
fete  of  beauty  not  of  noise ;  and  at  the  risk  of 
seeming  very  unpatriotic  I  think  the  French  have  a 
much  more  fitting  way  of  celebrating  their  free- 
dom. By  day  Paris  is  alive  with  the  tremulous  color 
of  floating  flag.  By  night  the  city  is  ablaze  with 
light.    The  Seine  gleams  like  a  rainbow-hued  rib- 


FOURTH  OF  JULY  IN  THE  RUE  PETIT  JEAN.   87 

bon  with  the  reflections  from  the  bridges,  the  lit- 
tle boats  leaving  trails  of  light  behind  them,  and 
yellow  lanterns  that  hang  like  great  golden  oranges 
from  the  trees  on  its  banks.  The  palace  and 
gardens  of  the  Tracodero  rise  out  of  the  darkness 
like  a  scene  of  enchantment  from  the  Arabian 
Nights.  From  the  Champ  de  Mars  opposite,  hun- 
dreds of  thousands  of  people  are  gathered  to  see  it, 
and  to  enjoy  the  magnificent  fireworks,  the  castles 
and  fountains  and  gardens  —  golden  visions,  that 
gleam  for  a  moment  and  pass  away. 

But  the  most  interesting  part  of  the  fete  is  that 
of  the  children  to  whom  the  afternoon  belongs. 
The  different  arrondissements,  or  as  we  would  say, 
the  different  wards,  each  arranges  its  own  pro- 
gramme, which  usually  consists  of  games  and 
prizes.  The  Rue  Petit  Jean  is  a  little  street  run- 
ning out  of  the  Boulevard  de  Clichy,  and  bumps  its 
head  so  to  speak,  against  a  white  stone  where  stands 
a  small  shrine.  Probably  suggested  by  the  shrine, 
the  Committee  has  placed  the  bust  of  Liberty  on  a 
pedestal  in  front  and  surrounded  it  with  the  tri- 
color.    The  Committee  is  chieflv  a  tall  thin  man 


88   FOURTH  OF  JULY  IN  THE  RUE  PETIT  JF.AN. 

with  a  very  red  face  which  gets  redder  and  redder 
through  chasing  the  half-grown  boys,  who,  of  what- 
ever nation,  have  a  fashion  of  becoming  too  prom- 
inent for  the  committee-men  on  such  exciting 
occasions. 

Midway  down  the  street  stands  a  tall  pole  in  the 
middle  of  a  ring  of  sawdust.  At  the  top  is  a  great 
cedar  wreath,  and  from  this  hang  boxes  of  choco- 
late, Bologna  sausages  done  up  in  silver  paper,  a 
long  "flute"  of  bread,  a  doll,  cases  of  pencils,  a 
gleaming  pocket-knife.  At  the  foot  is  a  group  of 
eager-eyed  children  waiting  none  too  patiently  for 
the  fun  to  begin  ;  and  outside  their  mothers  in  white 
caps  and  as  eager  as  the  children. 

The  pole  is  called  the  Mat  de  Cocagne ;  in  other 
words,  the  Cockney  Mast.  It  has  been  well  oiled, 
and  the  trophies  above  are  for  those  who  can  get 
them. 

Everything  in  France  proceeds  according  to 
routine.  The  boys  who  are  to  take  part,  have  long 
since  been  enrolled,  and  the  committee  is  waving 
the  paper  with  authority.  Each  boy  steps  forth  as 
his  name  is  called,  and  a  pair  of  scissors  on  a  white 


FOURTH  OF  JULY  IN  THE  RUE  PETIT  JEAN.  gi 

string  is  hung  around  his  neck  as  solemnly  as  if  he 
were  being  invested  with  the  Order  of  the  Golden 
Fleece.  For  a  long  time  the  scissors  are  not  needed. 
Finally  the  tiniest  boy  of  all  mounts  higher  and 
higher,  the  children  shout,  the  women  set  up  a 
tremendous  cackle,  and  the  white  caps  nod.  He 
is  almost  in  reach.  He  slips  back.  He  gains 
again.  His  little  face  is  purple  with  effort.  The 
crowd  gets  more  and  more  excited.  The  air  is  rent 
with  ejaculations.  He  is  slowly  losing  ground. 
Then  relaxing  his  hold  he  slides  swiftly  clown,  the 
multitude  with  one  groan  coming  down,  as  it  were, 
with  him. 

Finally  a  large  boy  reaches  the  top  amid  great 
shouts  and  cuts  off  the  longest  sausage.  The  other 
boys  evidently  believe  there  is  some  virtue  in  his 
coat,  and  he  good-naturedly  lends  it  to  each  new 
aspirant.  Others  fill  their  pockets  with  sawdust 
which  they  scatter  on  their  legs  on  the  journey  up- 
ward to  give  them  better  purchase. 

At  last  the  time  is  up  and  the  crowd  changes  its 
place  in  front  of  the  bust  of  Liberty  where  the  Jeu 
■de  Bougies  is  to  take  place.     This  is  the  trial  of  the 


92       FOURTH  OF  JULY  IN  THE  RUE  PETIT  JEAN. 

little  girls  who  are  all  becurled  and  clean-pina- 
fored  for  the  occasion.  Parallel  lines  of  benches 
on  waich  the  mothers  sit,  mark  off  a  course 
which  ends  at  a  table  covered  with  little  petticoats, 
aprons,  collars  and  cuffs,  ribbons  and  laces.  The 
girls  are  arranged  according  to  their  ages,  the  lit- 
tle ones  coming  first.  Into  each  little  tot's  hand  a 
lighted  candle  is  placed.  At  the  signal  they  start 
and  run ;  and  the  first  one  at  the  goal  with  her 
candle  still  lighted  is  the  winner.  Away  they  go 
toddling  over  the  stones.  The  timid  ones  stop  to 
try  and  shield  their  lights,  and  the  bolder  ones 
dash  away,  their  candles  apparently  out,  but  when 
they  stop,  red-faced  and  breathless,  before  the 
committee  now  behind  the  table,  the  light  flares 
up  as  if  it  too  had  been  playing  a  little  game.  It 
is  a  pretty  sport,  and  the  pile  of  prizes  on  the  ta- 
ble rapidly  grows  less. 

For  the  larger  girls  there  is  still  the  Jeu  de 
Ciseaux  in  which  the  prizes  are  more  improving.  A 
string  is  tied  across  the  narrow  street.  A  foot 
apart  hang  other  strings  attached  to  this,  to 
each  of  which  is  tied,  work  baskets,  fans,  sewing- 


FOURTH  OF  JULY  IN  THE  RUE  PETIT  JEAN.        93 

boxes,  silk  aprons  and  pieces  of  humble  finery. 
The  girls  are  blindfolded,  one  by  one,  and  given  a 
pair  of  scissors.  They  walk  slowly  and  with  med- 
itative tread  toward  the  rope,  and  holding  out  the 
scissors  endeavor  to  cut  one  of  the  threads.  If 
they  succeed  the  prize  which  it  holds  is  theirs. 
If  they  fail  they  contribute  to  the  hilarious  merri- 
ment of  the  occasion. 

It  is  pleasant  to  see  how  good-natured  everybody 
is  and  how  well  the  unfortunates  take  their  defeat. 
One  thing  is  especially  to  be  observed.  There  are 
no  tubs  of  lemonade,  bushels  of  cake,  and  pounds  of 
candy  distributed,  such  as  make  so  important  part 
of  a  Fourth  of  July  celebration  in  this  country. 
The  hungry  children  run  to  their  mothers  who  have 
ambushed  in  their  pockets  a  petit  pain  or  as  a  great 
treat,  a  brioche,  which  is  softer  and  sweeter  than 
the  dry  roll.  But  the  children  seem  just  as 
happy  as  young  Americans,  and  perhaps  on 
the  next  day  are  even  happier. 


AN    INTERNATIONAL 
EPISODE. 

AN  impressive  though  simple  ceremony  was 
performed  in  Westminster  Abbey  on  the 
first  of  March,  1884,  and  I  wish  to  take  my  Amer- 
ican friends  with  me  in  imagination,  as  I  give  a 
short  account  of  it. 

The  sun  shone  out  with  unusual  brightness  on 
that  now  historic  morning.  It  was  pronounced  a 
fine  day  even  by  the  Americans  who  made  a  part 
of  the  company  which  found  its  way  to  the  Abbey 
where  their  great  singer  was  to  be  buried.  We 
shall  take  the  liberty  of  joining  the  small  group 
composed  principally  of  the  relatives  of  Mr.  Long- 
fellow. Our  tickets  invite  us  to  the  famed  Jerusa- 
lem Chamber,  where  the  preliminary  ceremonies 
are  to  occur  —  a  low  building  of  a  single  story  which 
impinges  upon  the  west  front  of  the  Abbey.  Half 
94 


AN    INTERNATIONAL    EPISODE. 


95 


an  hour  later,  the  poet's  portrait-bust  is  to  be  un- 
veiled in  the  South  Transept,  usually  known  as 
Poets'  Corner. 

Making  our  way  through  the  Dean's  Yard,  we 
pass  by  a  low  doorway,  and  along  devious  pas- 
sages—  devious  at  least  to  our  unaccustomed  feet 
— into  the  celebrated  place.  What  visions  of  the 
past  rise  before  us  as  we  are  ushered  into  the  tapes- 
tried apartment !  At  the  long  and  somewhat  nar- 
row table  that  runs  down  the  middle,  now  usurped 
by  reporters,  the  learned  divines  who  lately  revised 
the  New  Testament  sat  and  worked  many  tedious 
days.  Venerable  even  in  the  far-away  Dark  Ages, 
how  many  scenes  of  ecclesiastical  policy  has  the 
room  witnessed !  Nearly  five  hundred  years  ago, 
too,  it  was  the  scene  of  the  death  of  King  Henry 
the  Fourth  as  made  immortal  by  Shakespeare. 
In  this  room  it  was  that  the  prince,  his  son,  tried 
on  the  crown  which  his  father  had  laid  at  his  bed's 
head.  Here  it  was  also  that  in  June,  17 19,  the 
body  of  the  gentle  essayist,  Addison,  lay  in  state. 

Though  we  are  among  the  first  to  enter,  we  soon 
find  our  memories  of  the  past  interrupted  by  the 


96  AN    INTERNATIONAL    EPISODE. 

increasing  company  of  those  privileged  to  partici- 
pate in  these  private  exercises,  and  now  the  room 
is  so  full  that  some  are  obliged  to  stand  for  want 
of  seats.  The  two  daughters  of  the  poet  are  taken 
to  places  of  honor  at  the  front,  where  Earl  Gran- 
ville and  other  notables  are  presented  to  them. 
While  the  little  audience  is  gathering,  we  look 
about  us  and  notice  Mr.  Lowell,  the  American 
Minister,  Mr.  Childers,  Chancellor  of  the  Ex- 
chequer, Miss  Mackintosh,  a  London  niece  of  the 
poet,  Sir  Theodore  Martin  and  others  whose  fame 
has  probably  crossed  the  sea.  The  Dean  of  the 
Abbey  is  not  present,  having  been  called  away  by 
bereavement,  and  as  the  hour  of  noon  arrives,  Mr. 
Bennoch,  Honorary  Treasurer  of  the  memorial 
fund,  rises  and  moves  that  the  chair  be  taken  by 
the  Sub-Dean,  Canon  Prothero.  The  Honorary 
Secretary,  Mr.  Bennett,  reports  briefly  what  has 
been  clone  since  the  last  previous  meeting  of  the 
Executive  Committee,  and  reads  letters  from  Mr. 
Gladstone,  the  Earl  of  Derby,  H.  R.  H.  the  Prince 
of  Wales,  the  Baroness  Burdett-Coutts  and  others 
regretting  their  inability  to  be  present.     This  nee- 


AN    INTERNATIONAL    EPISODE.  97 

essary,  but  not  very  entertaining  work  being  accom- 
plished, Mr.  Bennet  then  calls  upon  Earl  Granville 
formally  to  commit  to  the  care  of  the  custodians 
of  "  that  ancient  and  historical  Abbey,  the  bust,  a 
memorial  raised  by  the  contributions  of  the  English 
people,"  and  expressed  a  hope  that  the  represen- 
tative "of  the  mighty  offshoot  of  our  islands," 
whom  he  said  he  rejoiced  to  see  present  on  the 
occasion,  might  see  "  in  the  presence  of  his  friend 
in  our  Poets'  Corner  how  dearly  we  cherish  the 
thought  of  the  unity  of  the  two  great  communities 
of  our  race."  These  cordial  sentiments  of  inter- 
national good  feeling  were  greeted  with  cheers. 

Earl  Granville,  a  nice-looking  gentleman  who 
dropped  the  final  g's  from  his  words  in  a  way 
that  might  surprise  our  American  cousins  not  accus- 
tomed to  the  fashionable  style  of  English  speech, 
now  became  the  centre  of  attraction.  Of  course, 
he  began  by  saying  that  he  was  not  prepared  to 
make  a  speech,  though  he  frankly  acknowledged 
that  the  richest  materials  for  a  speech  were  not 
wanting.  His  lack  of  preparation  did  not  hinder 
him  from  continuing  for  some  time,  nor  from  being 


9$  AN    INTERNATIONAL    EPISODE. 

really  interesting  in  his  remarks.  He  dilated  upon 
the  high  character,  the  refinement  and  the  personal 
charm  of  the  illustrious  American  whom  he  had 
come  to  honor,  and  upon  the  traits  which  had 
achieved  for  his  writings  a  popularity  no  greater 
in  America  than  in  England  and  its  dependencies. 
He  was  greeted  with  cheers  when  he  referred  to 
the  international  relations  of  a  moral  and  intel- 
lectual nature  which,  he  said,  form  bonds  growing 
greater  and  stronger  every  day  between  the  intel- 
lectual and  cultivated  classes  of  the  two  great 
countries.  Then  he  complimented  Mr.  Lowell,  as 
one  infinitely  better  fitted  than  he  to  treat  these 
important  topics  —  as  one  not  only  the  official  rep- 
resentative of  the  United  States,  but  as  being  in  a 
position  to  speak  with  more  authority  than  any 
one  else  upon  the  literary  and  intellectual  progress 
of  his  country.  Earl  Granville  expressed  also  his 
pleasure  that  he  had  himself  been  present  at  the 
meetings  inaugurating  the  work  in  the  completion 
of  which  he  was  now  permitted  to  participate,  and 
called  upon  the  Sub-Dean  to  accept  the  bust  for 
the  authorities  of  the  Abbey. 


AN    INTERNATIONAL    EPISODE.  99 

I  cannot  report  the  charming  speech  that  Mr. 
Lowell  then  delivered  in  the  inimitable  style  that 
has  fortunately  become  so  familiar  in  England,  but 
it  was  very  grateful  to  the  daughters  of  the  poet  as 
well  as  to  all  who  cherished  his  memory.  The  Sub- 
Dean  then  accepted  the  memorial,  and  Mr.  Childers, 
who  had  spent  several  years  in  America  and  had 
known  the  poet  there,  followed  with  a  little  speech, 
in  which  he  reiterated  the  desire  of  Mr.  Lowell, 
that  the  Abbey  might  become  the  Valhalla  of  the 
English-speaking  race.  He  then  moved  a  vote  of 
thanks  to  the  Honorary  Secretary,  which  Mr.  Ben- 
net  properly  acknowledged. 

We  follow  the  group  as  it  proceeds  to  the  South 
Transept.  Mr.  Bennoch  offers  Miss  Longfellow 
his  arm,  and  all  walk  into  the  south  aisle  through 
a  door  just  under  the  little  gallery  entered  from 
the  Deanery,  in  which  Her  Majesty  has  sometimes 
had  her  seat  when  quietly  witnessing  services  which 
she  wished  not  to  be  recognized  as  attending,  as  in 
the  case  of  the  obsequies  of  Lady  Stanley.  As 
Poets'  Corner  is  approached,  the  crowd  becomes  so 
dense  that  progress  is  quite  difficult. 


IOO  AN    INTERNATIONAL    EPISODE. 

The  Abbey  certainly  never  appeared  so  bright 
as  to-day,  As  we  enter  Poets'  Corner,  we  look 
directly  into  the  chapel  of  St.  Benet.  Just  there 
stands  the  prominent  monument  to  Dryden.  At 
the  right  is  a  great  pillar,  next  to  the  tall  urn  which 
commemorates  Cowley,  on  one  side  of  which  is  the 
monument  to  Chaucer.  To  the  left  of  Cowley's 
urn,  attached  to  the  great  pillar  at  the  corner,  the 
bust  of  Mr.  Longfellow  (  now  covered  with  a  cloth) 
is  fixed  in  the  very  position  that  a  friend  would 
have  chosen  for  it.  As  we  approach,  Canon  Pro- 
thero  mounts  some  steps  prepared  for  the  pur- 
pose, and  stands  at  the  side  of  the  bust.  When  the 
buzz  of  conversation  ceases,  he  pronounces  a  few 
eloquent  words  of  eulogium,  says  that  to-day  we 
are  adding  another  name  to  the  list  of  the  illustri- 
ous dead,  goes  back  to  the  time,  a  hundred  years 
ago,  when  America  was  just  emerging  from  the 
war  of  Independence,  and  shows  how  the  progress 
of  time  has  brought  about  a  feeling  of  brother- 
hood between  the  nations  then  alien,  and  asks  that 
nothing  may  ever  sever  those  united  by  eternal  ties 
of  language,  race,  religion,  and  common  feeling. 


AN    INTERNATIONAL    EPISODE.  IOI 

As  the  last  words  fall  from  his  lips,  the  Canon 
removes  the  cloth  from  the  bust.  A  murmur  of 
satisfaction  a,nd  the  words  "  a  noble  thing,"  greet 
our  ears  as  the  crowd  that  has  been  eagerly  wait- 
ing sees  the  pure  and  life-like  creation  of  the 
sculptor.  Though  the  exercises  are  thus  informally 
ended,  the  people  do  not  disperse.  Lovingly  they 
linger  to  gaze  at  the  new  ornament  of  the  wonder- 
ful Abbey,  and  a  few  are  fortunate  enough  to  be 
presented  to  the  daughters  of  the  poet. 

On  the  pedestal  we  read  the  simple  word : 
Longfellow.  On  the  bracket  is  the  legend,  com- 
posed by  Dean  Bradley :  "  This  bust  was  placed 
among  the  memorials  of  the  poets  of  England  by  the 
English  admirers  of  an  American  poet,  1883."  On 
one  side  of  the  bust  are  the  words,  "  Born  at  Port- 
land, U.  S.  A.,  Feb.  27,  1807  ;  on  the  other,  "Died 
at  Cambridge,    U.  S.  A.,  March  24,  1882. 

Some  critics  think  that  this  bust  is  the  finest  in 
the  Abbey,  and  if  their  opinion  be  true,  it  is  a  fact 
upon  which  the  American  admirers  of  the  poet,  no 
less  than  those  who  wish  to  cultivate  international 
friendship,  have  a  right  to  be  proud.     Mr.  Brock, 


AN    INTERNATIONAL    EPISODE.  102 

the  sculptor,  had  only  photographs  to  guide  him, 
but  he  has  succeeded  in  making  a  representation 
of  the  poet  which  is  surely  an  admirable  likeness 
of  him  as  he  appeared  in  his  strength,  with  all  his 
intelligence  and  kindliness.  It  shows  a  man  such 
as  Mr.  Lowell  described  when  he  declared  Mr. 
Longfellow's  nature  to  be  "  consecrated  ground 
into  which  nothing  unclean  could  enter." 


KENILWORTH   CASTLE. 


THE    JACKDAWS    OF    KEN- 
ILWORTH. 

THIS  was  how  it  happened  : 
I  was  sketching  one  day  in  Kenilworth 
Castle.  I  had  worked  hard  for  several  hours,  sit- 
ting in  a  quiet  corner  of  the  mournful  old  ruins  — 
mournful  even  on  a  blazing  day  in  early  summer. 
My  subject  was  a  beautiful  arch  —  a  great  high 
arch  with  graceful  mouldings  running  round  it  of 
the  warm  pink  sandstone  that  the  Castle  is  built 
of.  Through  the  arch  there  was  a  pointed  window 
with  a  great  trail  of  ivy  tumbling  down  one  side  of 
it,  and  spreading  little  tendrils  over  the  traceries. 
Through  the  window,  I  looked  out  on  gently  rolling 
country,  on  grass  fields  and  elm-trees  and  distant 
woodlands  that  faded  into  a  soft  blue  haze  in  the 
west. 

On  the  broken  wall   above   the  arch  grew  red 
105 


106  THE   JACKDAWS    OF    KENILWORTH. 

snapdragons,  and  rich  brown  wall-flowers ;  and  a 
little  wild  rosebush  had  rooted  itself  in  the  scanty- 
earth  between  the  crumbling  stones.  And  in  and 
out  of  innumerable  holes  among  the  ivy  on  the 
walls,  flew  many  Jackdaws  with  gray  heads  and 
glossy  black  bodies  and  sharp  knowing  eyes. 
When  I  first  settled  myself  in  my  corner,  I  heard 
a  good  deal  of  chattering  going  on  in  the  holes; 
my  presence  evidently  caused  some  annoyance  to 
their  occupants. 

"The  Jackdaws  have  young  ones  there,"  I 
thought.  But  soon  they  discovered  I  was  too 
intent  on  my  business  to  trouble  them,  and  they 
went  on  with  theirs;  flying  in  and  out  all  day, 
bringing  dainty  morsels  to  their  fledgelings  —  giv- 
ir  g  them  much  good  and  useful  advice  —  and  gos- 
sipping  prodigiously  among  themselves  ;  for  Jack- 
daws are  very  wise  people  who  know  all  that  goes 
on  in  the  neighborhood,  and  delight  to  tell  it  to 
their  friends  and  relations. 

The  day  had  been  very  hot.  A  constant  stream 
of  tourists  had  poured  through  the  Castle,  weary- 
ing one  with  chatter  more  ceaseless  than  that  of 


THE   JACKDAWS    OF    KENILWORTH.  1 07 

the  Jackdaws  themselves.  And  as  the  afternoon 
wore  on  my  fingers  and  my  eyes  ached,  and  I  laid 
down  my  brushes  and  leaned  back  against  the  old 
wall  behind  me. 

Presently  I  observed  that  the  Jackdaws  ceased 
flying  backwards  and  forwards  ;  and  they  gradually 
gathered  themselves  together  on  the  top  of  the 
broken  arch  opposite  me.  There  was  a  good  deal 
of  hopping  to  and  fro,  of  choosing  comfortable 
positions,  of  shaking  out  tails  and  wings,  and  set- 
tling every  feather  in  place.  Mothers  and  fathers 
brought  young  half-fledged  children  out  of  the 
holes,  and  put  them  in  safe  places  where  they 
would  run  no  risk  of  falling.  And  how  they  all 
chattered ! 

I  listened  and  watched,  and  watched  and  lis- 
tened ;  and  all  of  a  sudden  I  found  that  I  began 
to  understand  what  they  were  saying.  I  listened 
more  closely ;  and  then  I  distinctly  heard  a  very 
important-looking  Jack,  with  peculiarly  fine  plum- 
age, remark,  "  Thank  goodness,  they  are  gone  at 
last." 

"  Who  are  gone,  father  ?  "  asked  a  fledgeling. 


Io8  THE   JACKDAWS    OF    KENILWORTH. 

"  Why,  those  odious  tourists,"  he  answered. 
"How  they  do  talk!  A  respectable  Jackdaw 
can't  make  himself  heard  in  such  a  Babel." 

"  I  don't  mind  the  tourists,"  said  another. 
"  But  I  do  detest  those  schools  of  children  who 
come  here  to  picnic  !  There  were  less  than  usual 
to-day ;  but  do  you  remember  last  Whitsuntide  ? 
It  was  enough  to  addle  all  the  eggs  my  wife  was  sit- 
ting upon.  There  was  one  specially  odious  child 
who  came  up  to  the  great  Queen's  chamber,  and 
screamed  with  a  voice  like  a  screech-owl,  to 
another  little  wretch  below:  'Oh!  'Lizer !  come 
up  'ere  !  I'm  in  Queen  Elizerbeth's  dressin'-room 
a-settin'  on  'er  dressin'-table,  a-doin'  my  back  'air.' 
I  declare  I  longed  to  fly  down  and  pull  her  hair 
out.  It  would  have  been  useful  for  next  year's 
nests." 

"And  that  boy,"  chimed  in  another,  "who  set 
his  mother's  pug-dog  at  the  sheep  by  my  Lord 
Leicester's  Lodgings.  How  pleased  I  was  when 
that  tall  woman  who  is  forever  painting  here  — 
why,  there  she  sits  still  —  never  mind,  she  won't 
hurt  us  —  what  was  I  saying?     Oh!  the  dog  and 


THE   JACKDAWS    OF    KENILWORTH.  109 

the  boy  —  when  our  tall  friend  there,  fetched  the 
gatekeeper,  and  had  them  both  turned  out.  How 
the  boy  ran  when  he  saw  the  green  coat  and  gold 
buttons  coming  after  him  !  " 

"The  children  are  so  greedy,"  sighed  Mrs. 
Jack.  "They  eat  up  every  crumb  they  bring  with 
them,  and  never  think  of  our  nestlings.  I  prefer 
the  'country  families,'  who  drive  over  with  a  big 
luncheon-basket,  and  always  have  lots  of  bits." 

"  Are  they  the  people  with  blue  heads  that  we 
saw  to-day  ? "  asked  a  fledgeling. 

"  Good  gracious,  child,  no !  "  cried  its  father  in 
horror.  "  Why,  those  are  Americans.  Those  blue 
things  that  they  tie  their  heads  up  in,  are  veils. 
I  have  never  yet  been  able  to  find  out  why  they 
do  so,  for  they  can't  see  much  through  them,  I'm 
sure.  Nevertheless  I  like  the  Americans.  It  is 
true  they  talk  a  good  deal.  But  they  are  really  in- 
terested in  our  Castle,  and  know  what  they  are 
looking  at.  And  they  never  propose  to  rebuild 
our  walls  here,  as  some  of  those  English  people 

do,  whom  Mr. called  Philistines  the  other  day. 

I  don't  quite  know  what  he  meant.     But  I'm  cer- 


IIO  THE   JACKDAWS    OF    KENILWORTH. 

tain  it  was  something  bad  ;  and  I  was  rejoiced 
to  hear  it." 

"Who  was  my  Lord  Leicester,"  said  another 
fledgeling,  who  had  been  sitting  with  his  head  on 
one  side  in  a  reflective  manner.  "  Was  he  a  rela- 
tion of  ours  ? " 

"Ah!  my  poor  child,"  laughed  his  parent,  "your 
ignorance  is  truly  lamentable.  It  is  high  time  for 
Great-grand  father  John  to  begin  your  education. 
And  there  he  comes." 

As  he  spoke,  all  the  Jackdaws  looked  eagerly 
across  the  ruins  of  the  great  hall  towards  Caesar's 
Tower.  I  looked  too ;  and  saw  a  single  Jackdaw  of 
stately  and  venerable  appearance  fly  slowly  from  the 
massive  tower  with  its  walls  of  old  Roman  concrete 
sixteen  and  twenty  feet  thick,  and  join  the  group 
before  me.  The  young  Jacks  looked  with  awe  at 
the  old  gentleman,  and  stopped  fidgeting  and  asking 
questions.  Their  parents  ceased  chattering,  and 
bowed  their  heads,  and  drooped  their  wings,  and 
shivered  their  feathers  in  sign  of  welcome  and 
respect. 

Great-grandfather  John   (I  suppose  they  called 


f He  jackdaws  of  kenilworth.  i  i  r 

him  thus,  because    they   thought  "  Jack "  would 
have  seemed  too  familiar)  settled  himself  on  a  bit 
of  broken   tracery  that  lay  in    the    midst   of   the 
Jackdaw's    parliament-ground,    and    cocking    his    * 
gray  head  on  one  side,  thus  began  : 

"  My  dear  great-great-grandchildren,  it  has 
always  been  the  custom  of  our  family  that  every 
summer  the  young  Jackdaws  should  learn  a  little 
of  the  history  of  their  famous,  learned,  and  ancient 
race  from  the  bill  of  their  oldest  relation.  For 
many  years  it  has  been  my  privilege  to  instruct 
your  parents ;  and  now  it  is  time  that  your  educa- 
tion should  begin.  Have  the  young  ones  been 
asking  any  questions  yet  ?  "  he  continued,  turning 
to  the  parent  birds. 

"  My  child  wanted  to  know  if  my  Lord  Leices- 
ter were  a  relation  of  our  family,"  laughed  the 
father  of  the  reflective  fledgeling,  and  all  the  elder 
Jackdaws  laughed  too. 

"Silence,"  said  Great-grandfather  John.  "No 
one  can  learn  unless  they  ask  questions.  So 
don't  hide  your  head  under  your  wing,  for  you  have 
done  nothing  wrong :  but  listen  to  me. 


112  THE   JACKDAWS    OF    K  EN  I L  WORTH. 

"  My  Lord  Leicester  was  no  relation  of  ours. 
He  was  a  man,  a  very  splendid,  handsome,  wealthy, 
and  gallant  gentleman.  There  were  great  doings 
here  in  his  days,  three  hundred  years  ago. 

"  Our  Castle  then  was  very  different  to  what  it 
is  now.  This  vast  hall  was  roofed  in.  Huge  fires 
of  logs  cut  from  Kenilworth  Chase  burned  in 
those  great  open  chimneys.  The  walls  were  hung 
with  colored  stuffs  with  pictures  on  them  worked 
in  silk  and  fine  wools.  Those  broken  pillars  and 
ribs  of  stone  you  see  down  there,  against  the  lower 
walls,  supported  the  floor  of  the  great  hall.  At 
this  southern  end  of  the  hall  the  lofty  archway  we 
are  now  sitting  on,  led  into  the  State  apartments 
reserved  for  Royalty.  And  outside  the  north  wall 
of  the  hall,  where  the  winding  stair  leads  past  the 
old  thorn-tree,  is  Mervyn's  Tower,  in  which  my 
Lord  Leicester's  lovely  wife,  Madam  Amy  Robsart 
was  concealed  once  upon  a  time,  when  good 
Queen  Bess  was  my  Lord's  guest. 

"  Yes !  those  were  grand  times.  My  great-great- 
grandfather who  told  me  about  them,  heard  it  all 
from  his  great-great-grandfather,  who  was  a  few 


THE   JACKDAWS   OF    KENILWORTH.  113 

month  sold  when  the  Queen  came  to  Kenilworth  in 
July,  1575.  He  lived  in  the  top  of  Caesar's  Tower, 
where  my  apartments  now  are,  which  is,  you  know, 
the  oldest  part  of  our  Castle.  He  saw  all  the 
grand  doings.  In  fact  he  was  asked  by  the  branch 
of  our  family  who  live  at  Warwick  Castle,  to  come 
over  there  to  welcome  the  Sovereign  of  English 
Jackdaws  and  men.  And  he  accompanied  the 
Royal  Progress  all  the  way  from  Warwick  to 
Kenilworth ;  which  attention,  it  is  said,  gave  her 
Majesty  much  satisfaction. 

"  He  saw  the  great  Queen,  mounted  upon  a 
milk-white  steed,  arrayed  in  gorgeous  attire,  and 
blazing  with  jewels,  ride  along  the  avenue  through 
the  wood  over  there,  between  rows  of  flaming 
torches  held  by  two  hundred  horsemen,  which 
made  the  twilight  as  bright  as  day.  Upon  her 
right  hand  rode  my  Lord  Leicester,  one  glitter  of 
jewels  and  cloth-of-gold,  on  his  splendid  black 
charger.  After  them  came  all  the  Court,  fail 
ladies  and  wise  counsellors,  and  all  the  nobles  of 
the  country ;  with  "such  a  crowd  of  knights  and 
gentlemen,  squires  and    serving-men,  as  reached 


114      THE  JACKDAWS  OF  KENILWORTH. 

half  way  to  Grey's  Cliffe.  And  outside  the  gates 
was  so  great  a  throng  of  people  from  all  the 
country  round,  as  was  never  seen  before  or  since. 

"  So  soon  as  the  Queen  stepped  on  yonder 
broken  bridge  across  the  lake — you  need  not  look 
for  the  lake  now,  my  great-great-grandchildren,  for 
it  is  all  dried  up,  and  Mr.  Treplin's  cows  are  feed- 
ing there  —  as  soon  as  the  Queen  reached  the 
bridge,  a  beautiful  dame,  curiously  dressed,  sailed 
up  on  the  water,  with  light  all  round  her,  and 
dolphins  and  strange  water-creatures  swimming 
about  her ;  and  she  welcomed  Queen  Elizabeth  to 
Kenilworth.  And  just  as  the  Queen  came  up  te 
the  great  gate  of  the  Castle,  cannons  were  fired, 
and  fiery  rockets  filled  the  air,  and  the  people 
shouted,  and  there  was  such  a  tremendous  noise 
and  such  a  blaze  of  light  that  several  of  our  family 
flew  away  in  alarm,  thinking  the  Castle  on  fire. 

"  In  the  evening,  our  ancestor,  who  shared  the 
thirst  for  knowledge  which  has  ever  been  a  char- 
acteristic of  our  race,  found  that  sleep  was  impos- 
sible ;  for  Caesar's  Tower  was  the  guard-house  in 
those  days;   and  the  men-at-arms  kept   up   such 


THE  JACKDAWS   OF    KENILWORTH.  1 15 

noisy  feasting  that  no  Jackdaw  could  close  an  eye 
that  night.  He  therefore  flew  from  his  chamber 
in  the  tower;  and,  guided  by  the  light  and  music, 
managed  to  find  claw-room  on  one  of  the  lofty 
windows  of  the  great  Hall. 

"  The  Queen  sat  within  upon  the  throne,  which 
was  near  the  door  to  her  apartments  — just  where 
those  railings  go  across  now.  My  Lord  Leicester 
was  wondrously  dressed  all  in  white  from  head 
to  foot  —  velvet,  and  cloth-of-silver,  and  seed 
pearl,  and  shining  satin — the  most  noble  courtier 
in  all  that  splendid  company.  He  stood  beside 
the  Queen  and  did  the  honors  of  his  Castle  to  her. 
And  presently  our  ancestor  saw  a  gentleman  of  a 
grave  and  beautiful  countenance,  kneel  before  Her 
Majesty,  who  struck  him  lightly  on  the  shoulder 
with  a  sword,  saying,  '  In  the  name  of  God  and 
St.  George  we  dub  thee  Knight.  Rise  up,  Sir 
Walter  Raleigh.' 

"  I  have  heard  that  this  gentleman  was  a  wise 
and  gallant  man  ;  and  that  he  sailed  across  the 
sea  to  the  land  of  the  Americans,  and  brought 
back  aU  manner  of  wonderful  things  to  England, 


Il6  THE   JACKDAWS    OF    KENILWORTH. 

"  Our  ancestor  was  so  much  interested  in  all  he 
saw  that  night,  that  he  followed  the  Queen  next 
morning  into  the  Pleasaunce  below  Mervyn's 
Tower,  where  the  gatekeeper  now  grows  his 
potatoes  and  gooseberries.  And  he  was  present 
at  her  meeting  with  Madam  Amy  Robsart,  who, 
he  said,  was  fair  as  a  lily  and  lovely  as  a  rose. 

"  Yet  it  is  reported  that  she  did  not  find  grace 
in  the  Queen's  sight ;  and  that  she  was  seen  no 
more  in  Kenilworth,  and  came  to  a  sad  end  soon 
after.  But  if  ever  you  visit  our  Warwick  relations 
who  live  in  Lord  Leicester's  Hospital  that  he  built 
for  old  soldiers,  you  may  peep  into  the  Brother's 
Kitchen  when  the  porter  is  away,  and  see  a  bit  of 
Madam  Amy's  work  hanging  on  the  wall. 

"  After  those  days  of  revelry  our  family  had  a 
grand  time  of  feasting.  There  was  no  lack  of  food 
close  at  hand  that  year ;  and  many  of  the  nests 
next  spring  were  beautifully  decorated  with  threads 
of  silk,  and  satin  ribbons,  and  glittering  jewels  and 
gold,  which  our  ancestors  picked  up  and  carried  to 
their  storehouses  as  mementos  of  the  Queen's  visit 
to  their  Castle. 


THE    JACKDAWS    OF    KENILWORTH.  I  19 

"  But  most  of  these  treasures  were  lost  some 
seventy  years  later  when  Oliver  Cromwell  laid 
siege  to  our  Castle.  My  great-great-grandfather's 
great-grandfather  was  living  in  Kenilworth  then. 
He  told  terrible  tales  of  how  the  cannons  were 
planted  all  round  the  Castle  and  battered  the 
walls.  Many  of  the  young  birds  were  killed  by 
the  falling  stones  which  crumbled  under  the  can- 
nons balls  ;  and  when  the  army  went  away  —  after 
draining  the  lake,  and  cutting  down  the  trees  — 
our  Castle  was  left  desolate. 

"Yet  after  a  while  our  ancestors  found  that 
Oliver  Cromwell,  in  spite  of  his  ugly  face  and  ugly 
clothes  —  sucK  a  contrast  to  my  Lord  Leicester  in 
his  white  velvet  and  cloth-of-silver !  —  had  really 
done  them  a  kindness  in  ruining  the  Castle.  He 
made  it  a  thoroughly  comfortable  dwelling  for  Jack- 
daws. The  grand  dinners  were  over  it  is  true, 
and  they  had  to  fly  further  for  food.  But  there 
was  no  one,  save  a  few  serving-men  down  at  the 
stables,  to  dispute  their  uninterrupted  possession 
of  the  Castle  that  has  been  our  property  for  so 
many  generations.     The  siege  of  Kenilworth  was 


120  THE   JACKDAWS   OF    KENILWORTH. 

really  the  beginning  of  the  strength  and  power  of 
our  famous  branch  of  the  family." 

"  But  I  heard  some  one  saying  the  other  day," 
said  a  rather  forward  bird,  "  that  Amy  Robsart 
never  was  here  at  all  —  that  she  died  three  years 
before  Queen  Bess  gave  Kenilworth  to  Lord 
Leicester  —  that  Canon  Jackson  had  written  a 
paper  about  it  in  a  blue-covered  book  called  the 
Nineteenth  Century." 

Great-grandfather  John  turned  his  bright  eye 
upon  the  speaker. 

"Young  birds,"  he  answered  solemnly,  "who 
set  up  to  teach  their  great-grandparents  to  suck 
eggs,  and  try  to  destroy  the  traditions  of  ancient 
and  respectable  families,  always  come  to  a  bad 
end.  My  great-great-grandfather  told  me  that  his 
great-great-grandfather  had  seen  Madam  Amy  Rob- 
sart in  yonder  little  chamber  where  the  railing  was 
put  last  year.  Miserable  sceptic !  Do  you  wish 
for  better  proof  than  that  ? " 

At  these  words  all  the  Jackdaws  young  and  old 
gave  a  great  shout,  and  flew  upon  the  young  prig 
who  had  doubted  his  great-grandfather's  accuracy. 


THE   JACKDAWS    OF    KENILWORTH.  121 

There  was  a  tremendous  flapping  of  wings,  and 
screaming  of  harsh  voices  ;  and  up  they  all  whirled 
like  a  black  cloud  into  the  air  saying,  "Ja-ack, 
ja-ack,  ja-ack,"'  so  loud  that  I  too  jumped  to  my 
feet  with  a  great  start. 

The  sun  was  setting.  The  gatehouse  was  turn- 
ing pale  flame-color  against  a  black  thunder 
cloud,  up  in  the  north  towards  Coventry.  I  gath- 
ered up  my  sketching  things,  scattered  the  remains 
of  my  luncheon  about  to  attract  the  Jackdaws' 
notice,  ran  down  to  the  gatehouse,  and  in  ten 
minutes  my  pony  was  flying  along  the  elm-shad- 
owed road  towards  home.. 

Had  I  been  asleep,  do  you  ask  ?  Oh  clear  no  ! 
I  never  sleep  in  the  afternoon.  And  beside  that, 
if  any  one  will  give  themselves  the  trouble  to  lis- 
ten, they  may  always  understand  what  the  Jack- 
daws have  to  tell.  Try  for  yourselves  when  you 
go  to  Kenilworth  Castle. 


HERMANNUS    CONTRAC- 
TUS. 

(A    True  Story  of  the  Eleventh   Century) 

WHEN  one  is  studying  any  subject  h^  is  quite 
sure  to  find  many  things  that  are  graceful 
and  beautiful  and  which  he  wishes  others  c<iuld  en- 
joy along  with  himself.  I  suppose  there  is  no  harm 
in  a  hard-working  geologist  bringing  in  a  nosegay 
after  a  day's  exploration  ;  and  so  I  scarcely  think  it 
worth  while  to  ask  permission  to  tell  this  pathetic 
little  story  which  is  hidden  away  from  most  readers 
in  the  Latin  and  German  languages  and  among  for- 
gotten books. 

In  the  year  1013  there  was  born,  somewhere  in 
Suabia,  a  little  child  called  Hermann.  In  later 
years  he  himself  wrote  it  "  Heriman,"  but  histori- 
ans agree  to  spell  it  in  the  usual  form.  He  was  the 
son  of  Walfrad,  Count  of  Vehringen  and  the  oldest 


HERMANNUS    CONTRACTUS.  123 

of  fifteen  children.  At  seven  years  of  age  he  was 
unable  to  stand  any  comparison  with  other  boys, 
for  he  was  palsied  and  crippled  and  nearly  inca2?a- 
ble  of  motion.  He  was  gibosus  ante  et  vetro,  et  con- 
tractus, et  daudns — "  bowed,  before  and  behind,  and 
crippled,  and  lame."  He  had,  that  is,  a.  hump-back 
and  a  bent  chest,  and  was  otherwise  deformed  and 
paralytic.  In  an  age  when  a  count  was  expected 
to  be  a  hard  rider  and  a  strong  fighter,  it  looked  as 
if  poor  little  Hermann  had  no  destiny  before  him. 
His  mother  was  a  good  woman  —  one  of  the  best. 
The  child  too,  came  of  godly  stock,  for  one  of  his 
ancestors  was  the  holy  Udalric.  And  thus  at  seven 
years  he  was  carried  —  literally  —  off  to  the  South 
and  placed  in  the  Convent  of  St.  Gall  where  there 
was  a  very  famous  school.  This  was  in  the  old 
town  of  St.  Gall  near  the  Lake  of  Constance ;  and 
in  this  convent  originated  the  "sequences" — ir- 
regular songs  of  praise  to  God  of  which  that  sen- 
tence in  The  Burial  Service,  "  In  the  midst  of  life 
we  are  in  death,"  etc.,  is  a  good  example.  In  fact 
Notken,  a  monk,  of  this  very  St.  Gall,  composed  that 
beautiful  prayer  when  he  saw  the  bridge  builders 


124  kERMANNUS    CONTRACTUS. 

hanging  at  their  dangerous  task  over  the  little  stream 
which  dashes  on  down  to  the  lake. 

St.  Gall  was  then  a  place  full  of  music  and  sing- 
ing. And  the  crippled  lad — though  he  could 
scarcely  move  without  help  —  mastered  his  studies 
so  well  that  he  soon  became  an  honor  to  his  teach- 
ers. He  learned,  in  spite  of  his  defective  voice, 
to  chant  the  services.  He  understood  the  intricacy 
of  the  queer,  square-headed  notes  in  the  "  antipho- 
naries,"  or  singing-books.  And  he  also  learned  how 
to  write,  himself,  on  parchment.  There  were,  of 
course,  no  printed  books  in  those  days,  and  in  the 
"  Scriptorium  "  or  writing-room  of  the  convent  the 
monks  worked  hard  to  multiply  copies  of  their 
valuable  volumes.  The  time  was  divided  regularly  ; 
so  much  for  singing,  and  so  much  for  praying,  and 
so  much  for  eating,  and  so  much  for  manual  labor, 
and  so  much  for  meditation  and  study,  and  so  much 
for  sleep.  Into  this  routine  the  little  Hermann 
was  early  inducted  and  here  he  probably  spent  — 
more  or  less  continuously —  the  first  thirty  years  of 
his  lite. 

Here,  too,  I  suppose,  he  got  his  life-long  nick- 


HERM ANNUS    CONTRACTUS.  125 

name  of  Contractus.  "  Hermannus  Contractus" 
is  the  title  by  which  he  is  to  be  sought  out  in  his- 
tory. It  means  "  Hermann  the  Cripple,"  and  he 
\s  usually  called  by  it,  though  the  Germans  some- 
times say  "  Hermann  der  Gebrechliche  "  —  which 
means  the  same  thing.  His  true  name,  "  Hermann 
von  Vehringen,"  and  his  adopted  name,  "  Hermann 
of  Reichenau,"  are  seldom  used.  It  was  Her- 
mann the  Cripple  who  became  celebrated. 

You  might  think,  that  such  an  affliction  would 
have  soured  the  poor  lad  and  disgusted  him  with 
his  fellows — but  it  never  did.  He  is  sometimes 
spoken  of  as  "  hilarissitnus  " —  which  means  "  most 
cheerful" — and  alwas  as  "  eruditissimus"  which 
means  "  most  learned."  In  the  manuscripts  col- 
lected from  the  remains  of  the  old  convent  library 
at  St.  Gall  there  is  still  to  be  found  one  which  he 
wrote  with  his  own  hand  —  some  lines  of  the  saints 
by  Anselm  of  Canterbury,  the  great  Englishman. 
Those  are  the  days  before  the  Reformation,  when 
Christianity  could  only  be  discovered  in  such  nooks 
and  corners  of  the  land  and  when  many  a  noble  and 
pure  soul  lived  and  died  in  the  cloisters  of  monas- 


126  HERMANNUS    CONTRACTUS. 

teries  and  under  the  discipline  of  th  t  Roman  Cath- 
olic Church. 

Hermann  at  thirty  took  upon  him  the  vows  of 
the  religious  life.  He  promised  to  spend  his  days, 
unmarried,  pure  and  devout.  He  entered  the  con- 
vent of  Reichenau,  not  very  far  from  St.  Gall. 
Here  he  passed  the  remainder  of  his  existence,  from 
the  year  1043  to  the  year  1054. 

Reichenau  was  another  celebrated  abbey.  A 
fine  church  was  built  there  in  Hermann's  time  by 
King  Henry  the  Third  —  "  the  Black."  The  con- 
vent itself  was  on  an  island  in  Unter-See,  a  portion 
of  the  Lake  of  Constance,  and  it  was  surrounded 
by  green  fields  and  pleasant  orchards.  Here  the 
children  of  noble  families  were  educated.  Here 
they  studied  the  Trivium:  Grammar,  Dialectics  and 
Rhetoric. 

And  here  they  also  added  to  these,  after  they 
progressed  a  little,  the  Quadridium :  Music,  Arith- 
metic, Geometry  and  Astronomy. 

The  boys  were  taught  to  speak  Latin  and  to  write 
it  —  using  it,  finally,  in  place  of  their  native  German 
tongue.     They  sang  in  the  choir  and  were  regularly 


HKRMANNUS    CONTRACTNS.  1 27 

instructed  by  such  competent  teachers  as  Hermann 
had  now  grown  to  be. 

And  as  for  Hermann,  he  became  "  miraculum 
nostri  secli"  —  the  marvel  of  our  age  —  as  one  of 
his  contemporaries  styles  him.  He  was  not  merely 
a  master  of  Latin  and  Greek,  but  he  acquired  the 
little  known  language  of  the  Arabs,  and  perhaps  he 
picked  up  an  acquaintance  with  Hebrew.  But  he 
was  a  good  deal  given  to  science,  and  wrote  a  trea- 
tise on  the  squaring  of  the  circle,  and  another  on 
the  calculation  of  eclipses,  and  others  still  on  physi- 
ognomy and  the  use  of  the  "  astrolabe,"  which 
was  a  mathematical  instrument  for  estimating  the 
distances  and  angles  of  the  stars.  He  was  quite  a 
mechanic,  too,  and  it  is  said,  though  incorrectly,  that 
he  made  clocks  and  watches  in  his  leisure  hours. 

He  bears  the  reputation  of  having  been  a  master 
of  verse ;  and  of  his  treatise  upon  metre  enough  is 
said  to  show  us  that  he  was  very  skilful.  Some  of 
his  hymns  have  survived,  and  if  you  will  turn  to  The 
Prioress'  Tale  in  Chaucer,  or  to  the  modernized  ver- 
sion of  it  by  Wordsworth,  you  will  find  one  of  them 
in  the  Alma  Redemptori 's  which  the  little  Christian 


128  HERMANNUS    CONTRACTUS. 

boy  was  singing.  A  certain  historian  says  that  he 
wrote  "  many  thousand  "  such  songs  —  but,  alas,  we 
can  never  hope  to  identify  them  ! 

So  he  lived  and  so  he  died.  After  he  went  to 
Rheinau  he  began  a  "  Chronicon  " —  or  history  of 
the  world  from  the  year  a.  d.  i.  In  it  he  tells  us  of 
his  own  birth  in  the  year  1013  and  of  his  father's 
and  mother's  deaths.  His  mother  died  two  years 
before  himself — in  1052  — and  he  writes  a  touch- 
ing elegy  in  Latin  which  he  adds  to  the  brief  words 
in  which  he  records  her  departure  to  a  better  world. 
His  "  Chronicon  "  appears  to  have  been  something 
like  a  private  historical  summary  intended  for  his 
own  use  —  but  it  is  invaluable  nowadays  to  the  stu- 
dents of  early  German  history. 

By  this  time  Hermann  was  abbot  of  his  convent 
—  that  rich  and  powerful  house  whose  abbot  could 
go  to  Rome,  so  they  said,  without  sleeping  outside 
of  his  own  dominions  by  the  way.  That  is,  the 
property  was  so  vast  and  in  so  many  different  places 
that  he  only  needed  to  travel  from  one  of  his  pos- 
sessions to  another  as  he  proceeded  upon  his  jour- 
ney.    Reichenau  —  Augia  the  Rich  —  had  been  es- 


HERMANNUS    CONTRACTUS.  1 29 

tablished  in  724  and  therefore  it  was  now  over  three 
hundred  years  old. 

The  end  came  in  1054  —  and  it  is  notable  that 
the  crippled  hand  carried  the  "  Chronicon  "  along  to 
±at  very  year,  as  if  it  would  not  drop  the  pen  be- 
fore it  was  compelled.  Berthold  of  Constance,  Her- 
mann's friend  and  pupil,  writes  about  the  last  scene. 
He  says  that  his  beloved  master  sank  away  sweetly 
and  gently,  bidding  the  weeping  monks  prepare 
to  meet  him  in  the  world  above.  Finally  he  called 
Berthold  closer  and  being  there  alone  with  him, 
he  told  him  of  a  dream  which  had  come  to  him.  It 
drew  him  with  such  gladness  to  the  better  country 
that  he  finished  all  he  had  to  say  on  earth  with  the 
words,  "Yes,  I  am  tired  of  living"  ["  Tacdrt 
quidem  me  vivere"]  —  and  so  fell  asleep. 

And  now  for  the  strange  and  surprising  fact  about 
him  —  which  I  have  kept  to  the  last.  It  was  he  —  and 
7/<tf  Robert  the  Second,  King  of  France  —  who  wrote 
the  "  Vent  sancte  Spiritus  " — "  Come  Holy  Spirit." 
This  is  the  loveliest  of  all  Latin  hymns,  and  in  trac- 
ing back  its  authorship  the  other  clay  I  came  upon 
this  almost  unknown  man  and  this  entirely  unknown 


J3°  HERMANNUS    CONTRACTUS. 

story.  This  is  no  place  to  give  the  argument  which 
establishes  the  thing  beyond  any  reasonable  doubt. 
I  can  only  say  that  the  hymn  is  credited  to  him  by 
the  historians  of  both  St.  Gall  and  Rheinaa  and  that 
the  earliest  instances  of  it  come  from  Germany ; 
and /rom  these  two  convents  and  the  neighboring  one 
of  Einsiedeln.  I  might  add  that  all  his  life  and  char- 
acter accords  with  the  beautiful  hymn  —  and  does 
so  far  better  than  Robert's. 

Thus,  whenever  we  sing  this  sweetest  song  of 
praise,  we  have  the  right  to  remember  that  it  grew 
up  like  a  fair  plant,  in  the  soul's  garden  of  the  lit- 
tle crippled  Hermann  of  Reichenau.  We  can  as- 
sociate it  with  the  Lake  of  Constance  and  the  Up- 
per Rhine.  We  can  remember  that  it  came  from 
one,  celebrated  abundantly  in  his  day,  but  whose 
greatest  honor  it  is  to  have  triumphed  over  sickness 
and  peevishness  and  bodily  defects  and  so  spent  his 
life  in  the  one  consummate  essence  of  that  fragrant 
hymn  that  it  is  redolent  of  his  piety  and  purity  even 
yet! 


A    WORTHY    NINE 

I  WAS  seated  here  in  my  little  book-room,  one 
afternoon  not  long  ago,  when  a  wonderful  cir- 
cumstance befell  me  of  which  I  must  tell  you.  The 
door  opened  and  a  large  card  was  handed  to  me, 
bearing  upon  it  in  black  letters  the  name  "  William 
Caxton,  printer." 

"  Show  the  gentleman  up,"  I  said  to  the  servant. 

"  Shure,  an'  there's  tin  av  thim  ! "  she  exclaimed 
with  an  air  that  made  me  suspicious  that  a  regiment 
of  foot,  or  a  company  of  armed  police  was  about 
to  enter  my  peaceful  abode.  She  retired,  however, 
and  there  stood  before  me  the  owner  of  the  card. 
He  was  a  veritable  antique.  A  long  white  beard 
covered  the  most  of  his  face  that  was  not  hidden 
by  his  round  fur  cap  and  shaggy  eyebrows.  I  could 
have  called  him  Santa  Claus,  if  he  had  not  borne 
himself  with  more  dignity  than  that  jolly  old  saint 
131 


132  A   WORTHY    NINE. 

usually  exhibits.  With  a  low  bow  and  the  accents 
of  an  educated  gentleman,  he  advanced  to  my  writ- 
ing-table as  I  rose  to  meet  him.  Casting  a  hasty 
glance  about  my  little  room,  he  said,  in  effect,  that 
he  was  accompanied  by  a  few  friends  who  wished 
to  make  the  acquaintance  of  one  who  did  not  de- 
spise men  or  things  because  they  were  old,  but  that 
only  a  portion  of  the  party  would  come  in  at  once. 
The  others,  he  said,  would  stroll  over  the  Common, 
wonder  why  the  soldier  on  the  Monument  had  got 
out  of  the  sentry-box  to  stand  on  the  top  of  it,  or 
read  the  inscription  on  the  tombstone  beneath  the 
Washington  Elm. 

I  assured  Mr.  Caxton  that  there  was  no  need  of 
doing  so,  that  in  fact  I  preferred  to  see  his  entire 
party  at  once,  and  I  proceeded  to  demonstrate  to 
him  that  four  peacefully  disposed  men  might  sit  on 
my  capacious  lounge,  one  in  the  rocking-chair,  and 
that  the  five  remaining  might  be  otherwise  provided 
for.  He  assured  me,  on  the  other  hand,  that  they 
had  all  of  them  been  so  long  seated  in  the  horse- 
car  that  standing  would  be  a  luxurious  change. 
Hardly  had  this  explanation  been  made,  when  I 


A    WORTHY    NINE.  1 33 

heard  a  tramp,  tramp,  tramp  on  my  doorsteps,  and 
a  rattling  of  side-arms  and  coats  of  mail,  and  lo, 
the  nine  companions  of  my  visitor  entered,  in  com- 
panies of  three  each.  Three  took  seats  on  the 
lounge,  but  no  fourth  could  I  get  to  sit  beside 
them,  and  the  two  remaining  groups  disposed  them- 
selves on  opposite  sides  of  the  room,  while  Mr. 
Caxton  himself  took  the  rocking-chair  in  which  lit- 
tle Dorothea  had  but  a  few  moments  before  been 
beguiled  to  sleep  in  her  mother's  arms.  I  looked 
at  him  as  he  sat  there.  He  was  evidently  a  gentle- 
man of  culture  and  wealth. 

He  said  that  he  had  been  a  resident  of  London 
four  hundred  years  before,  and  should  not  have  been 
in  this  part  of  the  world  now,  had  not  one  Mr.  Henry 
Stevens,  of  London,  a  sort  of  Green  Mountain  boy, 
made  him  uneasy  and  finally  drawn  him  out  of  re- 
tirement by  a  celebration  gotten  up  in  his  honor  a 
few  years  previous.  He  confessed  that  he  had 
done  some  good  printing  in  his  day,  but  he  had  not 
supposed  that  it  would  have  been  remembered  after 
so  many  years.  He  was  so  much  astonished  that 
he  had  been  unable  to  rest  quiet,  and,  having  re- 


134  A   WORTHY    NINE. 

turned  to  the  world  again,  had  taken  up  a  sort  of 
pilgrim-staff,  and  was  out  on  a  tour  of  inspection 
of  foreign  parts.  There  was,  he  added,  much  more 
of  a  world  to  be  seen  than  he  had  known  before. 
No  one  had  ever  heard  of  America  in  his  first  days 
on  earth.  As  for  printing,  it  almost  took  his  breath 
away  to  think  how  fast  the  presses  make  books 
now  —  and  the  old  man  rocked  back  and  forth  so 
rapidly,  as  he  reflected  on  the  activity  of  pressmen 
and  compositors,  that  I  expected  to  see  him  fall 
back  flat  on  his  back  in  spasms.  Soon,  however, 
he  became  composed  enough  to  say  that  he  could 
not  think  of  visiting  America  without  bringing  his 
"  nine  "  with  him. 

By  way  of  helping  forward  the  conversation,  I 
asked  if  my  caller  had  come  to  our  shores  to  fill  an 
engagement  for  a  match  game,  for  I  knew  that  the 
Harvard  "  nine  "  had  sent  challenges  to  clubs  in 
England  ;  but  my  remark  was  lost,  and  Mr.  Caxton 
cast  a  glance  at  some  small  volumes  on  the  top 
shelf  of  a  bookcase  and  continued : 

"  You  know  all  about  my  nine,"  said  he,  "  for 
there  are  three  books  that  have  the  appearance  of 


A    WORTHY    NINE.  135 

having  been  read  more  than  once,  and  oftener  than 
the  three  next  to  them." 

I  looked  up,  and  there  stood  old  Sir  Thomas 
Malory's  "  Most  Ancient  and  Famous  History  of 
the  Renowned  Prince  Arthur,"  and  by  its  side  the 
romance  of  Amadis  of  Gaul  —  the  one  worn  by  use, 
the  other  fresh  and  new.  Hardly  had  I  seen  them 
before  my  friend  took  down  the  first  volume  of  the 
former  set,  and,  pointing  to  the  prologue,  exclaimed, 
"  There  !  read  my  words.  I  wrote  them,  and  set 
every  type  of  them  with  these  hands,  at  the  Abbey 
of  Westminster,  in  the  year  1485  !  There  I  intro- 
duced my  nine  to  you.  On  the  lounge  before  you, 
behold  the  three  '  paynims,'  who  were,  as  I  wrote, 
'  'tofore  the  incarnacyon  of  Christ'  —  Hector  of 
Troy,  Alexander  the  Great  and  Julius  Caesar.  By 
the  window,  stand  the  three  Jews,  Joshua,  'who 
brought  the  people  into  the  land  of  behest,'  David, 
who  was  king  in  Jerusalem,  and  Judas  Maccabeus, 
who  stood  up  for  his  country's  rights.  By  the  par- 
lor door  are  seated  King  Arthur,  of  whom  the  vol- 
umes tell,  Charlemagne  the  great  emperor,  and 
Godfrey  of  Boulogne,  who  went  to  the  Crusades. 


13^>  A    WORTHY    NINE. 

They  fought  on  opposite  sides  when  in  the  world 
the  first  time,  but  they  keep  peace  as  they  travel 
with  me,  by  holding  their  peace."  At  this  little 
pun  all  the  heroes  smiled  beneath  their  raised  hand- 
kerchiefs. 

I  was  about  to  welcome  the  Nine  Worthies  to 
the  New  World,  when  it  occurred  to  me  that  they 
must  have  astonished  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  in 
the  horse-car,  as  they  came  out  from  Boston.  You 
see  that  I  think  all  good  things  must  come  from 
Boston.  On  a  second  thought  I  concluded  that 
they  would  have  been  recognized  as  the  remains 
of  some  "  Old  South  Ball,"  and  would  not  have 
been  disturbed  by  curious  questions.  The  imagi- 
nation of  the  scene  was,  however,  too  much  for  my 
gravity,  and  I  fell  back  in  my  chair  and  found 
relief  in  a  hearty  laugh.  When  I  had  regained 
my  composure  I  noticed  that  laughter  was  catch- 
ing, for  there  stood  Hector,  at  the  end  of  the 
lounge,  holding  his  sides  with  both  hands,  and  roar- 
ing until  his  beamy  helm  shook  and  his  side  arms 
rattled  at  a  merry  rate.  He  had  picked  up  Bry- 
ant's Iliad,  and  opening  it  at  the  end  of  the  sixth 


A   WORTHY   NINE.  137 

book,  had  read  the  affecting  account  of  his  own 
parting  with  his  wife  and  child  at  the  Scaean  gate 
of  Troy. 

"  I  remember,"  said  the  valiant  hero,  "  what  a 
hunt  I  was  obliged  to  make  for  Andromache  and 
Scamandrius,  and  how  I  found  them  at  the  gate, 
though  it  was  about  thirty-three  hundred  years 
ago ;  but  how  these  poets  do  dress  things  up ! 
The  little  fellow  was  afraid  of  my  brass  helmet 
and  horsehair  plume,  and  I  was  sad  at  parting 
with  Andromache,  but  I  did  not  talk  to  them  in 
metre  —  I  am  not  that  sort  of  a  man.  We  had 
the  matter  all  talked  over  before,  and  I  was  in  a  ter- 
rible hurry.  I  only  wiped  my  eyes,  and  kissed  my 
wife,  and  said,  '  Now  Annie,  dear,  run  home  and 
keep  busy.  Take  good  care  of  Mandri,  and  I'll 
come  back  as  soon  as  I  can.'  I  didn't  tell  her 
that  I  was  to  be  killed,  and  she  taken  prisoner, 
for  I  wished  to  keep  her  spirits  up.  I  did  tell  her 
that  I  would  not  keep  out  of  battle  like  a  coward, 
and  she  said  that  she  honored  me  for  my  pluck. 
I  am  interested  in  this  book,  though,  and  thank 
the  poet  for  making  me  appear  so  noble.     By  your 


138  A    WORTHY    NINE. 

leave,  I  will  read  some  more  of  it."  With  these 
words  noble  Hector  sank  back  on  the  broad  lounge 
and  was  not  heard  to  say  any  more. 

Just  then  Alexander  the  Great,  who  sat  next  the 
gentleman  from  Troy,  reached  over  him,  and 
grasping  the  elegant  sword  that  hung  at  the  side 
of  Judas  Maccabeus,  exclaimed,  "Where  did  you 
get  that,  my  fine  fellow  ?  I  gave  that  sword  to 
Ptolemy  and  told  him  to  keep  it."  At  these  words 
Judas  rose  to  protect  his  treasure,  and  at  the  same 
moment  Charlemagne  and  King  Arthur  started 
and  slapped  their  scabbards,  to  be  sure  that  their 
precious  weapons,  Durentaille  and  Excalibar,  were 
safe.  They  sat  down  satisfied,  but  not  too  soon 
to  startle  me  by  their  commanding  appearance. 
Charlemagne  was  nearly  six  feet  and  a  half  in 
height.  His  face,  though  very  attractive,  was 
dominated  by  a  remarkably  prominent  nose,  and 
his  flowing  gray  hair  made  his  appearance  charm- 
ing. While  I  was  engaged  scrutinizing  this  great 
light  of  the  Continent  in  the  Middle  Age,  Judas 
explained  his  title  to  the  sword,  Recuite,  by  show- 
ing how  Ptolemy  Epiphanes  had  given  it  to  him, 


A    WORTHY    NINE. 


*39 


and  he  told  also  of  the  wonders  it  wrought  in  the 
battles  of  the  Jews  against  the  oppressive  Syrians, 
a  century  and  a  half  after  the  death  of  Alexander. 

At  this  juncture,  Mr.  Caxton  remarked  that 
being  an  Englishman,  he  did  not  feel  at  home  in  a 
rocking-chair,  and  asked  Julius  Caesar  to  change 
seats  with  him,  a  movement  which  brought  the 
Roman  hero  face  to  face  with  the  great  Briton. 
Arthur  said  : 

"  By  the  way,  Julius,  I  have  always  been  inter- 
ested in  one  of  your  books.  We  used  it  in  school 
when  I  was  a  boy.  It  began:  i  Alexander  fauces 
jugi,  quce  Pyla  appellantur,  intromit?  " 

"  No,  no !  "  interposed  Alexander.  "  You  mis- 
take. Your  quotation  is  from  a  book  that  Quintus 
Curtius  wrote  about  me." 

"  I  stand  corrected,"  said  the  Briton.  "  I  should 
have  said,  '  Gallia  est  omnis  divisa  in  partes  tresJ 
The  book  gave  an  account  of  Ancient  Gaul,  and 
contained  also  much  that  interested  me  about  my 
own  ancestors." 

"  I  confess,"  said  Caesar,  "  that  for  once  I  found 
my  match,  when  I  met  the  Gauls.     I  wrote  also  in 


140  A    WORTHY    NINE. 

a  confident  tone  to  the  people  at  Rome,  about  my 
'  conquest '  of  Briton,  but  I  am  free  to  say  now 
that  I  had  an  eye  to  political  effect  in  my 
dispatches." 

Upon  this  Godfrey  of  Boulogne  arose  and  said, 
"  I  am  the  latest  born  of  all  this  company,  except 
our  Marshal,  and  I  remember  that  it  was  said 
that  after  great  Julius  left  Britain  an  influence 
from  Rome  remained  for  hundreds  of  years,  and 
that  when  the  last  Latin  left  the  land,  it  fell  into 
a  bad  state,  and  would  have  become  prey  to  in- 
vading Saxons,  had  not  Arthur  arisen  to  lead  his 
people  to  victory." 

"  True,"  said  Charlemagne,  "  I  was  born  two 
hundred  years  after  Arthur  had  left  the  scene,  and 
the  memory  of  his  twelve  great  battles,  in  which  he 
was  victorious  over  the  Saxons,  was  as  fresh  then 
as  the  daily  exploits  of  my  own  noble  Paladins." 

"And  they  always  shall  be  fresh,"  exclaimed 
Caxton,  "for  the  story  that  I  printed  has  been 
married  to  immortal  verse  by  a  'maker'  who  still 
lives  and  sings,  the  greatest  poet  of  our  '  nook- 
shotten  isle  '  of  Albion,  as  some  one  has  called  it. 


A   WORTHY    NINE.  141 

Ah,  I  remember  another  poet  who  sung  your 
praises,  my  dear  Godfrey,  and  well  he  might  have 
done  so.  When  I  think  how  the  great  Duke 
Joshua  led  the  chosen  people  into  the  land  of  be- 
hest, and  how  the  great  King  David  fought  the 
battles  which  put  the  kingdom  of  Israel  on  a  firm 
foundation — (here  Joshua  and  David  bowed  their 
heads  modestly)  —  when  I  think  of  ail  this  my 
heart  swells  with  indignation  at  the  desecration  of 
the  detested  'paynims'  who  held  Jerusalem  so 
long.  I  am  thrilled  with  admiration  of  your  deeds 
of  valor  in  the  Holy  Land  !  " 

While  this  speech  had  progressed,  I  noticed 
that  Caxton  had  grown  more  and  more  excited, 
and  that  Hector  and  Alexander  had  nudged  each 
other  and  finally  called  Caesar  to  a  whispered  con- 
ference. A  moment  later  Hector  arose,  drew  his 
sword,  and  exclaimed,  that  he  and  his  two  Gentile 
companions  could  not  sit  still  and  hear  such  re- 
marks made,  and  that  unless  Mr.  Caxton  ceased 
his  aspersion  of  the  "pagans,"  as  he  was  pleased 
to  call  him  and  his  fellows,  there  would  be  trouble. 
I  noticed  that  Caesar,  in   unsheathing  his  sword, 


I42  A    WORTHY    NINE. 

had  knocked  down  the  portrait  of  Mr.  Howells 
that  hung  on  the  wall  and  had  broken  it  into  many 
pieces.  The  three  Christians,  in  their  haste,  had 
overturned  one  of  the  bookcases  and  spilled  the 
mucilage,  and,  amid  the  swords  and  fighting  men, 
my  position  was  becoming  an  embarrassing  one. 

I  called  upon  the  heroes  to  remember  that  their 
reputations  —  the  growth  of  centuries  —  were  in 
danger.  My  words  were  in  vain,  however.  Mr. 
Caxton  incontinently  jumped  out  of  the  window 
and  has  not  since  been  heard  from.  The  desk 
was  my  only  protection.  Meantime  the  strokes  of 
the  swords  grew  more  and  more  frightful,  and  it 
was  evident  that  there  would  be  no  peace  until  the 
warriors  had  all  been  put  hors  du  combat. 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  as  I  was  about  to  call 
Nolan  to  pick  up  the  remains  of  the  scattered 
armor,  and  to  sweep  out  the  library,  I  was  startled 
by  a  voice  that  said,  "  My  dear,  how  long  you  have 
slept !  We  have  knocked  on  your  door  three  times, 
to  let  you  know  that  dinner  is  on  the  table." 

I  was  happy  to  know  that  that  which  had  been 
so  real  to  me  was  but  a  vision.     I  could  scarcely 


A   WORTHY   NINE.  1 43 

believe  that  I  had  not  really  seen  the  Nine  Wor- 
thies, so  deep  an  impression  had  the  scenes  of  my 
dream  made  upon  me.  As  I  meditate  upon  it 
now,  I  realize,  more  than  ever  I  have,  the  differ- 
ences between  our  days  and  the  olden  times  of 
which  we  read  so  much.  The  time  is  long  past, 
when  men  take  offence  so  readily  and  so  con- 
stantly look  out  for  some  cause  for  quarrels. 
They  do  not  now  draw  their  swords  and  cut  and  kill 
one  another,  in  the  fashion  of  the  knights  of  old. 
They  are  not  so  ready  to  fight  as  David  was,  nor 
as  Hector,  Alexander  and  Caesar  were. 

I  suppose  that  I  must  consider  it  all  a  dream, 
but  I  shall  never  cease  to  congratulate  myself  that 
I  have  seen  the  old  heroes,  and  their  historic 
swords,  nor  shall  I  soon  lose  my  desire  to  know 
where  William  Caxton  went  when  he  took  flight 
from  my  window. 


A    DAHABEEAH-WRECK 
ON    THE    NILE. 

OF  the  many  pathways  and  modes  of  travel 
there  are  few  more  delightful  than  that  of 
making  the  ascent  and  descent  of  the  Nile  in  the 
time-honored  dahabeeah.  From  the  very  earliest 
times  travellers  have  praised  the  beauties  of  the 
classic  river,  and  to-day  the  perfect  life  which  is 
lived  on  its  waters  draws  to  it  many  of  those  wan- 
derers whom  more  sunless  lands  send  forth  to 
peep  into  the  nooks  and  corners  of  the  world. 
And  Egypt,  "  that  gift  of  the  Nile  "  as  Herodotus 
calls  her,  will  ever  allure  travellers,  for  time  can- 
not efface  the  records  of  her  past,  nor  dull  the 
freshness  of  her  present.  Her  four  thousand 
years  of  history  lie  graven  on  her  banks  in  many 
a  mighty  monument  —  the  silent  witnesses  of  those 
successive  empires  whose  rise  and  fall  she  has 
144 


A    DAHABEEAH-WRECK    ON    THE    NILE.  145 

watched  through  the  by-gone  ages  —  while  her  pres- 
ent is  bright  with  the  color  and  life  of  an  orient  land. 
Whether  sailing  gently  up  the  picturesque  reaches 
of  the  river's  winding  course,  or  descending  with 
the  swift  current,  Egypt  pours  down  on  the  voy- 
ager her  sunshine,  wraps  him  in  an  air  that  has 
the  freedom  of  a  continent,  while  she  unrolls  an 
ever-shifting  panorama  of  fair  eastern  scenes,  en- 
riched with  those  wondrous  temples  and  architec- 
tural glories  which  have  made  her  land  so  famed. 
The  hours,  robbed  of  monotony  by  the  constant 
moving  of  the  vessel,  bring  their  own  incidents. 
Each  day  is  a  placid  page  of  lovely  life,  filled  with 
the  undying  charm  of  antique  times  and  scenes. 

Yet  dahabeeah  travelling  is  not  without  its  perils. 
The  people  one  has  to  journey  amongst  are  not 
always  quite  so  honest  or  peaceable  as  they  might 
be ;  rocks  and  sand  banks  make  the  river's  course 
in  many  parts  a  perfect  network  of  dangers  ;  some- 
times the  dreaded  "kamseen,"  or  desert  storm, 
will  drive  across  the  river,  wrecking  every  craft  that 
it  meets  in  its  direful  path ;  while  squalls  which 
convert  the  calm  waters,  in  a  few  moments,  into 


146  A    DAHABEEAH-WRECK.    OX    THE    XI  IE. 

an  angry  sea  are  by  no  means  unfrequent.  Many 
a  good  vessel,  encountering  one  of  these  sudden 
gusts  of  wind,  has  taken  her  treasures  to  rust  and 
moulder  at  the  bottom  of  the  fair  but  faithless 
river ;  and  in  such  a  mischanceful  moment  it  was 
that  the  writer's  dahabeeah  was  lost. 

We  were  an  English  family  party  of  four,  two 

ladies   (M and    L )    and   two   gentlemen 

(P and  myself)  seeking  for  winter  sunshine  in 

a  voyage  up  the  Nile.  The  name  of  our  daha- 
beeah was  the  Bedawin,  and  a  beautiful  vessel  she 
was,  roomy,  swift,  gorgeous  in  white  and  gold 
paint,  and  furnished  in  her  interior  with  a  strange 
admixture  of  Eastern  luxury,  and  the  European 
notions  of  what  is  necessary  to  be  really  com- 
fortable. Being  a  pleasure-dahabeeah,  she  was 
much  larger  and  more  gracefully  built  than  the 
native  craft  sailing  from  village  to  village  with 
local  merchandise  ;  but  in  her  general  design  and 
rig  she  was  of  course  similar.  The  accommoda- 
tion, under  the  after-deck,  consisted  of  three  single- 
berthed  cabins  and  a  bathroom  opening  into  a 
central  passageway,  a  double-berthed  cabin  at  the 


A   DAHABEEAH-WRECK    ON   THE    NILE.  1 4] 

end  of  this  passage  in  the  stern  of  the  vessel,  and  a 
small  but  well-fitted  saloon,  occupying  the  breadth 
of  the  ship  between  these  and  the  fore-deck,  to 
which  latter  it  opened  by  a  curtained  door. 
Above  was  the  usual  poop  or  raised  deck,  with  its 
divans  and  awning  for  the  owners,  and  from  this 
a  short  flight  of  stairs  descended  again  to  the  fore- 
deck,  where  the  sailors  lived  and  most  of  the  ship's 
paraphernalia  were  stacked.  Her  tall  wing-like 
sails  of  which  she  had  the  usual  two,  namely  the 
"  trinkeet "  or  main-sail,  and  the  "  balakoom  "  or 
stern-sail,  caught  the  softest  of  breezes,  and  away 
with  an  almost  imperceptible  motion  she  would 
seem  to  fly  before  the  light  airs.  On  board  of  her 
was  the  "  Ryis,"  or  captain,  a  dignified  old  Arab 
afflicted  with  weak  eyes.;  his  crew  of  twelve  men, 
most  of  them  Nubians,  with  their  cook,  also  a 
young  Nubian  of  solemn  disposition ;  our  two 
table  servants,  Ali  and  Mustapha ;  our  cook,  an 
Arab  named  Achmet,  fated  alas !  to  be  the  one 
victim  of  our  catastrophe  ;  and  finally  the  drago- 
man Khalil  Yusuf,  a  handsome  Syrian,  timid  by 
nature  and  undecided  in  danger.     These  with  our 


148         A    DAHABEEAH-WRECK    ON    THE    NILE. 

four  selves  made  a  total  of  twenty-one  persons  that 
she  carried. 

We  had  been  three  weeks  gone  from  Cairo,  trav- 
elling southwards,  when  the  Bedawin  reached  the 
little  village  of  Mensheeyah,  where,  as  the  sun  was 
just  setting  across  the  Lybian  hills,  and  it  is  dan- 
gerous to  continue  sailing  after  dark,  the  daha- 
beeah  was  moored  by  the  village  bank  and  the 
watch-fires  lighted.  The  town  is  a  poor-looking 
place,  with  dirty  narrow  streets,  its  sole  redeeming 
virtue  being  apparently  the  manufacture  of  a 
peculiar  white  sweetmeat  of  a  viscid  nature,  which 
tastes  like  what  I  should  imagine  an  admixture  of 
soap,  sugar,  and  plaster  of  Paris  might ;  on  the 
other  hand  owing  to  its  sticky  nature  it  is  par  ex- 
cellence the  best  fly-paper  yet  discovered.  While 
we  were  mooring  here  three  other  dahabeeahs 
passed  us,  pressing  on  for  some  more  southern 
village,  their  tall  vague  sails  looming  out  against 
the  dark  sky.  We  called  for  their  names,  and  in 
the  silence  came  back  their  answers :  Lohengrin, 
Rachael,  and  Excelsior,  names  that  will  figure  in 
this  story. 


A    DAHABEEAH-WRECK    ON    THE    NILE.  149 

The  next  day  broke  cold  and  stormy  as  the 
Bedawin  left  the  village  of  Mensheeyah  still 
wrapped  in  the  semi-light  of  dawn.  Our  Ryis  had 
set  the  sails  to  the  strong  northerly  wind  blowing 
and  the  brave  little  dahabeeah  raced  merrily  along 
between  the  green  fields  of  the  eastern  shore  and 
the  sandy  desert  of  the  western  until  they  con- 
verged in  the  great  pass  of  Gebel  Tookh  —  a  mag- 
nificent wall  of  cliff  shutting  in  the  Nile  with  its 
sun-blistered  and  barren  precipices. 

It  was  about  seven  in  the  morning  when  the 
Bedawin  entered  beneath  the  towering  rocks  which 
were  fated  to  claim  her  amongst  their  many  vic- 
tims and  to  be  the  unwritten  tombstone  of  her 
ending.  Fiercely  up  the  pass  blew  the  wind,  and 
fitful  gusts  came  howling  down  the  chasms  and 
gorges  of  the  hills,  cutting  the  water  up  in  white 
waves,  and  driving  the  sand  and  stones  over  the 
cliff-tops.  So  violent  were  some  of  these  gusts 
that  one  which  struck  the  Bedaivin  heeled  her  over 
to  such  an  angle  that  the  shroud-bolts  touched  the 
water,  and  sounds  of  broken  crockery  arose  from 
the  pantry.     The  almost  flat  bottom  of  the   Nile 


15°  A    DAHABEEAH-WRECK.    ON    THE    NILE. 

dahabeeah  is  a  necessity  for  successfully  passing 
over  the  numerous  sand-banks  which  are  con- 
stantly shifting  their  position  in  the  river's  bed  ; 
but  this  advantage  in  one  respect  is  a  grave  draw- 
back in  another,  the  lack  of  keel  making  naviga- 
tion in  bad  weather  a  most  risky  task.  A  daha- 
beeah will  sometimes  lean  over  to  the  wind  till  her 
low  bulwarks  almost  dip  beneath  the  water,  and 
then  woe  betide  the  vessel  if  the  sailor  holding  the 
"  trinkeet-sheet  "  is  not  ready  to  let  go  and  so  free 
the  overstrained  ship  from  the  pressure  of  her 
canvas.  Too  often  the  sailor  whose  temporary 
office  it  is  to  hold  this  important  rope  will  endeavor 
to  shirk  the  duty  by  fastening  it  to  the  deck-ring ; 
but  let  the  traveller  beware  of  this  evasion,  for 
death  lurks  in  the  omission. 

Our  Ryis,  seeing  the  peril  of  the  situation,  should 
have  made  for  the  shore  and  awaited  there  in 
safety  calmer  weather.  But  his  Arab  indecision 
cost  him,  as  all  of  us,  dearly,  for  the  gale  growing 
momentarily  more  boisterous,  the  poor  Bedawm 
became  hopelessly  unsteady  and  at  last  uncon- 
trollable. 


A    DAHABEEAH-WRECK   ON    THE   NILE.  153 

The  unusual  commotion  which  the  storm  caused 

on  deck  soon  brought  P out  from  the  saloon, 

who,  realizing  the  need  of  some  decisive  move, 
told  the  bewildered  Ryis  to  furl  the  trinkeet-sail, 
or  let  everything  fly.  This  was  the  last  order 
given  on  board,  and  had  it  been  carried  out  (as  it 
should  have  been  long  before),  the  unfortunate 
vessel  might  have  recovered  herself  and  been 
saved.  But  before  the  sailors  who  climbed  to 
execute  it  had  clambered  half-way  up  the  tall 
trinkeet-yard,  the  Bedawin  gave  a  sudden  plunge 
and  then  keeled  over  on  the  starboard  side,  throw- 
ing the  ill-fated  cook  Achmet,  who  was  as  usual  in 
the  bows  by  his  kitchen,   into  the  water  on  that 

side.     P leaped  to  the  shrouds,  clutched  them 

with  one  hand,  while  with  the  other  he  tried  to 
seize  the  drowning  man,  whose  body  was  just 
visible  below  the  water  ;  but  the  ship  drove  for- 
ward on  her  beam-ends,  and  the  hapless  man 
drifted  away  in  the  rapid  current.  A  rope  was 
thrown  him,  and  the  poor  fellow  touched  it,  but 
had  not  strength  to  hold  it,  and  relinquishing  his 
feeble  grasp,  he  sank  to  follow  the  river's  current 


154  A    DAHABEEAH-WRECK    ON    THE    NILE. 

in  its  winding  course,  to  be  cast  on  some  sand- 
bank, or  washed  ashore  by  some  field,  where  the 
timid  native,  fearing  to  answer  for  his  dead  body, 
would  consign  him  again  to  the  waters,  to  float 
onward  with  the  tide,  the  one  victim  of  this  unfor- 
tunate day. 

While  this  was  occurring,  many  things  had  also 
befallen.     Alarmed  at  the  frightful  heeling  of  the 

vessel,  M had  left  her  cabin  for  the  deck  just 

as  the  Bedawin  half-righted  herself  from  the  peril- 
ous position  she  had  been  in.  The  tiller  in  a  sud- 
den swerve  of  the  vessel  from  her  course  had 
broken,  and  was  consequently  useless  ;  while  the 
men  aloft  were  still  endeavoring  to  furl  the  large 
sail.  Had  we  been  able  to  drive  on  to  the  low 
western  shore,  it  might  have  saved  us,  but  we  were 
by  this  time  at  the  mercy  of  the  wind  and  river  — 
an  already  helpless  wreck.  As  the  boat  righted 
herself,  she  seemed  to  struggle  bravely  a  moment 
or  two  against  the  overwhelming  wind  blowing  off 
the  mountain-heights  and  down  its  ravines ;  but 
then,  surrendering  to  its  superior  strength,  with  a 
plunge  forward  she  heeled  over  on  the   port  side, 


A    t)AHABEEAH-WKECK.    ON    THE    NILE.  1 55 

and  so  capsized  altogether,  submerging  everybody 
and  everything,  from  the  sailors  at  the  end  of  the 
lofty  trinkeet-yard  to  the  chickens  in  the  deck 
hencoops,  in  one  direful  chaos  of  confusion. 

During  the  momentary  stillness  of  the  vessel, 
when  she  recovered  from  her  first  great  lurch,  I 
had  left  my  room,  where  I  was  dressing,  and  was 
just  reaching  the  saloon  as  the  vessel  made  her 
final  heel  on  the  opposite  side  and  turned  bottom 
upwards,  filling  passage,  rooms,  and  saloon,  and 
floating  all  the  furniture  of  the  ship's  interior 
about  in  every  direction.  Amongst  this  awful 
confusion,  with  chairs,  tables,  cushions,  divans, 
guns,  books,  and  all  the  many  relics  of  our  late 
luxurious  life  on  the  river,  I  was  now  hurled,  and 
thus  suddenly  found  myself  face  to  face  with 
death,  with  almost  no  chance  of  escaping. 

Happily  for  me  I  had  always  been  passionately 
fond  of  swimming,  and  now  my  knowledge  of  that 
art  was  to  serve  me  in  good  stead.  The  curtains 
of  the  passage-way  leading  to  the  saloon  at  first 
held  me  in  their  heavy  folds  like  a  fish  in  a  net, 
but  freeing  myself  from  these  I  tumbled  into  the 


156  A    DAHABEEAH-WRECK    ON    THE    NILE. 

saloon  and  easily  gained  the  outer  doors,  although 
not  without  receiving  some  ugly  knocks  from  the 
tables  and  chairs,  which  continued  to  shoot  about 
in  the  water  as  if  possessed  of  goblin-lives.  Grasp- 
ing the  handles  of  the  sliding-doors,  which  met  in 
the  centre  of  the  doorway,  I  tried  now  to  force 
them  back,  but  having  nothing  but  water  to  stand 
on,  and  not  being  a  merman,  my  efforts  were  for 
a  moment  hopelessly  futile.  At  last  however  I 
gained  some  unknown  support,  and  pulling  with 
my  well-nigh  spent  strength  against  the  force  of 
the  water,  they  opened  —  how,  I  cannot  say ;  but 
I  have  a  vague  remembrance  of  passing  through 
the  water,  and  seeing  ropes  hanging  about  in  fan- 
tastic lacery,  strange  objects  around  me  ;  and  I 
distinctly  recollect  my  head  coming  into  contact 
with  some  large  box  or  heavy  article,  too  substan- 
tial to  be  easily  forgotten,  more  especially  as  my 
head  was  bruised  for  a  week  afterwards. 

But  the  moment  that  I  reached  the  surface  and 
drew  fresh  air,  I  recovered  sufficiently  to  gain  the 
friendly  support  of  a  chicken-coop  that  was  float- 
ing, full  of   its  dead  inmates,  near  me,  and   with 


A    DAHABEEAH-WRECK    ON    THE    NILE.  157 

regained  breath,  could  view  the  scene  around  me. 

The  Bedawin  had  not  sunk  entirely,  but  with 
her  port  side  lowest,  had  become  water-logged, 
with  about  a  foot  of  her  hull  still  showing  out  of 
water.  Having  drifted  broadside  to  the  current, 
she  thus  formed  a  breakwater  for  us  on  the  lee- 
ward side,  where  we  were  all  floating  amongst 
boxes,  boards,  and  the  various  items  of  the  ship's 
furniture,  some  of  which  supported  us.  This  happy 
chance  of  being  so  sheltered  by  the  vessel  saved 
us  from  driving  away  with  the  strong  current  down 
stream,  where  most  likely  all  would  have  perished, 
the  river  being  more  than  a  mile  broad  in  this 
part. 

Thus  there  was  a  platform,  consisting  of  the 
vessel's  starboard  bilge,  slightly  raised  from  the 
water,  and  on  to  this  everybody  had  now  to  scram- 
ble. Most  of  the  sailors  being  clear  from  the  very 
beginning  of  all  the  wreckage,  had  easily  gained 
such  a  temporary  safety,  and  two  or  three  of  them 

after  some  trouble  now  pulled  M there  also. 

Next  followed  P ,  reaching  the  keel  with  diffi- 
culty;   and   then    a    Nubian    named   Jonah,  with 


15^         A    DAHABEEAH-WRECK    ON    THE   NILE. 

some  others  of  our  crew,  made  good  their  footing 
on  the  floating  island,  with  whose  joint  help  I 
scrambled  up  and  helped  to  lay  hold  of  the  old 
Ryis. 

Here  we  found  L sitting  in  most  scanty 

attire,  for  the  accident  having  happened  at  such 

an  untimely  hour  of   the    morning,  P and  I 

were  the  only  persons  dressed,  the  ladies  being  in 
their  habits  de  nuit.  Her  escape,  due  to  her  own 
pluck,  calmness,  and  presence  of  mind,  had  been 
most  remarkable.  Her  room  was  luckily  on  the 
the  starboard  side,  and  so,  when  the  vessel  finally 
turned  over  to  port  and  the  water  rushed  in 
through  her  bedroom-door,  she  found  herself 
standing  on  the  side  of  her  cabin  and  knee-deep 
in  water.  Imagining  the  vessel  would  sink  imme- 
diately, she  hastily  undid  the  window,  now  above 
her  head,  and  pushing  back  the  Venetian  blinds 
(closed  to  keep  out  the  morning  sun's  rays),  she 
struggled  through  the  open  space  with  the  help  of 
a  sailor  already  on  the  exterior  of  the  water-logged 
wreck,  and  thus  by  her  coolness,  saved  her  life 
when  none  of  us  could  have  rendered  her  help. 


A    DAHABEEAH-WRECIv    ON    THE    NILE.  159 

There  were  now  twelve  sailors,  with  the  Ryis, 
dragoman,  two  table-servants,  and  our  four  selves 
on  the  drifting  ship,  making  in  all,  twenty  per- 
sons. For  some  moments  it  was  indeed  a  doubtful 
question  whether  the  Bedawin  would,  with  all  this 
weight  upon  her  submerged  hull,  remain  above 
water  or  sink  and  finish  off  the  catastrophe.  But 
she  continued  to  float,  though  as  she  became  more 
sodden  with  water  and  consequently  sank  deeper 
each  moment,  it  was  obvious  that,  unless  speedily 
lightened  of  her  living  freight,  her  total  immersion 
was  a  mere  question  of  minutes. 

Happily  the  small  boat  which  was  always  towed 
behind  the  Bedawin,  had  not  capsized  in  the  acci- 
dent, but  floated  near  by,  still  fastened  to  the 
dahabeeah's  stern  by  a  painter  rove  through  an 
iron  ring  at  her  bows.  To  cut  this  rope  which 
thus  inextricably  held  her  to  the  sinking  wreck 
was  now  our  hope  ;  but  the  only  tools  we  possessed 
were  a  small  ladies'  penknife  and  the  broken  glass 
of  the  windows.    However  by  means  of  these,  and 

after   fearful  trouble,  P and    I,  working   by 

turns  as  the  finders  of  one  or  the  other  became 


t6o        a  dahabeeah-wreck  ON  THE  NILE. 

too  benumbed  to  continue,  the  rope  was  at  last 
severed,  and  the  boat  freed.  Then  manning  her 
with  three  of  the  more  reliable  sailors  we  sent  de- 
tachment after  detachment — for  she  would  hold 
but  three  passengers  at  a  time  —  ashore ;  the 
ladies  first ;  then  those  who  had  been  hurt  in  the 
wreck  and  the  boy  Mustapha;  then  those  who 
could  not  swim  ;  and  so  by  hard  working  gathered 
the  little  army  of  twenty  persons  under  the  frown- 
ing face  of  Gebel  Tookh. 

But  though  safe  again  on  dry  land  our  day's  ad- 
ventures were  not  yet  over.  Cold,  and  wet,  and 
hungry,  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  push  on 
southward  in  the  hopes  of  reaching  some  village. 
So  over  six  miles  of  broken  ground  strewn  with 
jagged  stones  we  were  now  obliged  to  trudge, 
their  sharp  edges  cutting  our  bare  feet,  for  we  had 
but  one  pair  of  shoes  amongst  us.  Several  times 
some  of  the  fainter-hearted  sailors  broke  down, 
but  for  their  own  sakes  had  to  be  forced  on  —  for 
the  Arab  in  distress  has  little  of  the  energy  or 
self  reliance  which  in  happier  moments  he  may 
possess. 


A    DAHABEEAH-WRECK    ON    THE    NILE.  l6l 

After  two  hours  of  this  painful  walking  we  found 
a  shadoof-worker,  plying  his  laborious  task  at  the 
irrigation  of  a  field  of  water-melons,  and  enlisting 
him  as  guide,  were  brought  to  the  village  of  Gebel- 
es-Sheykh.  Here  the  simple  villagers  were  more 
than  kind.  They  set  the  largest  hut  at  our  dispo- 
sal, made  a  great  bonfire,  spread  food  before  us, 
and  dressed  the  ladies  in  Arab  clothing.  Late 
in  the  afternoon  our  vague  plans  were  suddenly 
interrupted  by  the  appearance  on  the  scene  of 
another  Englishman.  His  dahabeeah,  the  Excel- 
sior, had  passed  us  on  the  previous  night,  and  was 
now  at  Girgeh  about  six  miles  to  the  south  of  our 
hospitable  little  village.  He  had  heard  from  na- 
tive boatmen  passing  up  the  river  of  the  accident 
to  the  Bedawin,  and  had  set  forth  in  his  felucca  to 
search  for  us.  Under  his  kind  guidance,  wc  sailed 
up  the  short  distance  of  river  to  the  welcome 
banks  of  Girgeh,  where  the  generous  aid  and  sym- 
pathy of  the  owners  of  the  four  dahabeeahs  lying 
there  soon  ended  our  troubles. 


A  SCHOOL  IN  THE  FAROE 
ISLANDS. 

THERE  are  few  more  curious  sights  in  Europe 
than  the  outlying  islands  of  the  North  Sea, 
which  seem  hardly  to  belong  to  the  civilized  world 
at  all,  but  rather  to  have  been  planted  by  King 
Winter  as  outpost  sentries  around  his  Polar  cita- 
del. Beyond  wooded  Scotland  lies  treeless  Ork- 
ney ;  then  Shetland,  barer  and  bleaker  still ;  then 
the  grim  precipices  of  Faroe,  right  out  of  the  beaten 
track,  as  if  hiding  from  the  world;  and  lastly,  far 
away  to  the  northwest,  volcanic  Iceland  and  frozen 
Greenland,  where  the  Arctic  regions  begin  in  earn- 
est. 

But   even  these   desolate   little   nooks   of   No- 

Man's-Land  can  look  gay  and  pretty  enough  on  a 

bright  spring  morning  ;  and  our  first  sight  of  Trom- 

soe,  the  largest  of  the  Faroe  Isles,  is  certainly  well 

162 


A   SCHOOL    IN   THE    FAROE.  ISLANDS.  163 

worth  having.  Far  and  wide,  the  huge  black  cliffs 
tower  up  against  the  clear  morning  sky,  while  here 
and  there  a  break  in  the  great  wall  shows  the 
sunny  green  uplands  that  lie  behind  it.  A  sudden 
turn,  and  we  are  gliding  into  a  smooth,  deep  bay, 
so  narrow  at  the  mouth  that  it  almost  seems  as  if 
the  sea  had  run  in  here  to  play  hide-and-seek,  and 
had  never  found  its  way  out  again.  At  the  far  end 
of  it,  plastered  like  a  postage-stamp  against  the 
steep  hillside,  appear  the  clustering  log  huts  that 
form  the  "  town  "  of  Thorshavn  (Thor's  Harbor). 

Small  as  it  is,  this  tiny  capital  has  the  distinction 
of  being  the  only  town  in  Faroe,  and  its  thousand 
inhabitants  form  a  full  tenth  of  the  entire  Faroese 
population.  It  has  a  citadel  of  its  own,  too,  for 
from  the  ridge  above  it  flutters  jauntily  the  trim 
Danish  flag  (a  white  cross  on  a  crimson  ground), 
surmounting  a  quaint  little  toy  fort  defended  by 
four  rusty  guns  and  two  men  —  the  whole  being  on 
so  tiny  a  scale,  that  one  might  almost  expect  to 
see  labeled  on  its  side,  "The  complete  set,  only 
50  cents." 

And  what  a  strange,  outlandish,  fairy-tale  kind 


164  A   SCHOOL    IN    THE   FAROE    ISLANJJS. 

of  place  it  is,  when  we  step  ashore !  The  first 
thing  we  see  is  a  lamb  on  the  roof  of  a  house,  feed- 
ing contentedly  upon  the  grass  that  covers  the  turf- 
thatch.  A  little  farther  on,  several  strips  of  jag- 
ged black  leather  are  seen  waving  in  the  wind 
along  the  wall  of  a  log  cabin ;  but  another  look 
shows  them  to  be  dried  sheep's  tongues,  hung  up 
like  jerked  beef  in  South  America !  This  surprise 
is  followed  up  by  another  —  that  of  finding  that 
three  or  four  great  blocks  of  grimy-looking  wood 
heaped  together  in  a  corner,  are  really  the  bones 
of  a  whale  !  Junks  of  whale-flesh  (a  common  kind 
of  food  here)  are  hanging  in  every  direction,  looking 
very  much  like  coarse  salt-beef ;  and  a  bleaching- 
ground  of  linen  which  we  pass  a  few  minutes  later, 
gives  us  another  start,  the  supposed  linen  being  a 
store  of  flat-fish,  spread  out  in  the  sun  to  dry. 

And  the  farther  we  go,  the  more  these  oddities  in- 
crease. The  log  cabins  are  either  tarred  or  daubed 
with  red  paint,  and  we  find  rams'  horns  nailed  over 
many  of  the  doors,  "  to  keep  away  the  fairies," 
as  the  owners  explain.  The  steep  winding  streets, 
paved  with  slippery  "  cobble-stones,"  are  so  narrow 


A   SCHOOL    IN   THE    FAROE    ISLANDS.  165 

that  two  men  can  barely  walk  abreast.  The  fig- 
ures, too,  which  meet  us  at  every  turn,  look  as  if 
they  had  just  stepped  out  of  some  old  German  en- 
graving in  Jacob  Grimm's  fairy  tales.  Short  square- 
built  men  in  steeple-crowned  hats  and  broad-skirted 
brown  coats  with  thick  woolen  stockings  drawn  up 
to  the  knee  ;  round-faced  women  in  short  dresses  of 
coarse  dark  "  wadmaal,"  little  saucer-shaped  caps, 
and  pointed  sandals  of  soft  lambskin ;  chubby  chil- 
dren, almost  as  broad  as  they  are  high,  wearing 
peaked  red  nightcaps  such  as  one  sees  in  the  old 
Dutch  paintings,  and  shaggy  little  ponies,  not  much 
bigger  than  sheep. 

But  with  all  its  queer  details,  the  capital  of  Faroe 
makes  a  very  charming  picture.  In  front  extends 
the  bright  blue  sea ;  behind  lie  the  long  low  hills, 
floating  in  purple  shadow  —  all  around  spreads  the 
smooth  green  turf,  with  a  huge  black  spike  of  rock 
starting  up  through  it  every  here  and  there.  A 
deep  gully  runs  through  the  centre  of  the  town, 
down  which  a  tiny  stream  comes  dancing  and  spark- 
ling in  an  endless  succession  of  miniature  water- 
falls ;  while  the  clear  blue  eyes  and  rosy  cheeks 


1 66  A   SCHOOL    IN   THE    FAROE    ISLANDS. 

of  the  towns-people  show  how  well  this  rough  out- 
door life  agrees  with  them. 

It  is  no  easy  matter  to  reach  the  crest  of  the 
overhanging  ridge.  At  one  moment  I  find  myself 
over  ankles  in  the  thick  brown  mud  that  underlies 
this  tempting  greensward,  the  withdrawal  of  my  foot 
sounding  like  the  "  plop"  of  a  cork  ;  while  the  next 
instant  comes  a  howl  of  pain  from  one  of  my 
comrades,  who,  in  scrambling  over  a  loose  "  dyke," 
has  brought  down  a  huge  stone  right  upon  his  ten- 
derest  toe.  But  at  last  we  get  to  the  top,  and  ad- 
mire at  our  leisure  the  neat  little  white  church, 
with  its  score  or  two  of  grave  mounds,  around  each 
of  which  runs  a  well-kept  border  of  flowers. 

Just  beyond  the  churchyard  stands  the  school- 
house,  looking  very  neat  and  trim  with  its  clear 
thatch  and  whitewashed  walls,  and  the  well-kept 
gymnastic  poles  and  ropes  on  the  tiny  patch  of 
green  turf  in  front  of  the  doorway.  Through  the 
half-open  window  comes  a  buzz  like  the  hiving  of  a 
swarm  of  bees,  showing  that  the  morning  lessons 
are  in  full  swing;  and  around  the  door  lie  a  pile  of 
satchels,  all  bearing  visible  marks  of  hard  usage. 


A   SCHOOL    IN   THE    FAROE    ISLANDS.  167 

I  venture  to  peep  into  two  of  them.  The  first 
contains  a  well-thumbed  Danish  Robinson  Crusoe, 
inscribed  with  "  Christjan  Baerentsen,  hans  bog  " 
(his  book).  In  the  second  are  three  brown  huge 
biscuits,  put  up  by  some  careful  mother,  lest  her 
boy  should  be  hungry  during  the  long  schoolhours 
between  eight  and  two. 

Opening  the  door  rather  unceremoniously,  we 
enter  the  school  itself,  and  are  very  politely  received 
by  the  teacher.  He  is  a  tall,  thin  man  in  rusty 
black,  whose  pale  face  contrasts  very  markedly 
with  the  ruddy  color  and  round  cheeks  of  the  sturdy 
little  fellows  whom  he  has  in  charge. 

Three  or  four  of  them  are  standing  before  his 
chair,  repeating  their  lessons,  while  the  rest  are 
seated  on  low  benches  along  the  farther  side  of  the 
little  whitewashed  room.  They  seem  a  very  well- 
behaved  set  on  the  whole,  although  the  wistful 
looks  cast  at  the  window  by  some  of  the  bigger 
boys,  show  how  they  are  longing  for  the  glorious 
summer  holiday-time  when  they  will  be  out  of  doors 
all  day  long,  climbing  for  guillemots'  eggs  among 
the  precipices  that  overhang  the  sea,  swimming  and 


l68  A    SCHOOL    IN   THE    FAROE    ISLANDS. 

diving  in  the  cool,  clear  water,  or  going  a-fishing 
with  their  fathers  and  big  brothers. 

"  How  many  boys  have  you  here  ?  " 

"  Just  twenty  ;  we  don't  usually  have  more.  They 
generally  stay  here  till  they're  fourteen  and  fifteen 
years  old,  and  then  either  take  up  some  trade,  or 
go  to  Copenhagen  to  finish  their  education." 

"Are  your  schoolbooks  printed  on  the  island?" 

"No,  we  get  them  all  from  Denmark.  We've 
got  all  Hans  Christian  Andersen's  tales,  and  the 
children  seem  very  fond  of  them." 

"  And  what  do  you  teach  them  ?  " 

"  Reading  and  writing,  both  in  English  and  Dan- 
ish, as  well  as  geography,  arithmetic,  and  a  little 
history ;  and  then  they  sometimes  learn  a  piece  of 
poetry  by  heart." 

"  Indeed !    Can  we  hear  one  of  them  recite  ? " 

"  With  pleasure.  Hans  Petersen,  come  up  and 
let  the  English  gentleman  hear  how  well  you  can 
repeat  '  De  Tappre  Land-wldaV  (The  Valiant 
Soldier)." 

Hans  Petersen  —  a  sturdy  little  ten-year-old,  with 
a  clear  blue  eye  looking  out  through  the  mass  of 


A   SCHOOL    IN   THE    FAROE    ISLANDS.  169 

tousled  yellow  hair  that  frames  his  round  sun- 
burned face — shoots  a  sidelong  glance  at  us,  and 
then,  apparently  satisfied  that  we  are  not  likely  to 
be  very  hard  on  him,  rolls  out  the  famous  old 
Danish  war-song  as  energetically  as  if  the  whole 
national  army  were  listening. 

At  every  repetition  of  the  chorus,  I  see  the  little 
heads  nodding  a  lively  accompaniment,  while  the 
teacher  himself  (who  must  have  sung  it  pretty  often 
when  he  was  shouldering  a  musket  against  the 
Austro-Prussian  invaders  of  Denmark  in  1864) 
beats  time  briskly  with  his  thin  fingers,  as  the  stir- 
ring words  of  the  last  verse  come  clanging  out : 

—  for  should  we  shrink  away, 
The  Germans  will  come  in  on  us,  and  for  us  make  our  hay; 
And  so  with  all  my  might 
Like  a  soldier  brave  I'll  fight, 
Hurrah  !    Hurrah  !  Hurrah  ! 

The  final  "  Hurrah  "  is  echoed  by  the  whole  school 
with  a  vigor  that  quite  drowns  the  half -hour  stroke 
of  the  queer  old  clock  in  the  farther  corner;  and 
with  it  comes  a  scuffling  of  feet  and  a  scraping  o,c 


170  A    SCHOOL    IN    THE    FAROE    ISLANDS. 

benches,  as  all  the  twenty  start  up  at  once.  For 
the  teacher,  like  a  sensible  man,  never  forgets  that 
he  has  been  a  boy  himself,  and  knowing  by  expe- 
rience how  hard  it  is  for  these  restless  little  bodies 
to  keep  still  for  so  many  hours  together,  lets  out 
his  flock  for  a  general  romp  from  half-past  eleven 
to  twelve ;  and  the  lessons  go  smoothly  after  that ! 

Out  they  all  rush  pell-mell  on  to  the  green,  dart- 
ing up  and  down  the  exercise-poles  as  nimbly  as 
monkeys,  swinging  like  frolicsome  spiders  at  the 
ends  of  the  ropes,  rolling  head  over  heels  on  the 
smooth  turf,  playing  leap-frog  or  "  tag,"  shouting, 
laughing,  singing,  enjoying  the  fun  of  the  moment 
as  only  children  can  ;  while  the  teacher,  seating 
himself  in  the  doorway,  looks  on  with  a  smile. 

Gladly  would  we  stay  and  have  a  frolic  with 
these  thorough-going  merrymakers ;  but  it  will 
never  do  to  risk  letting  the  steamer  sail  without  us, 
and  being  left  stranded  here  for  a  whole  month. 
So  we  turn  off  again  down  the  hill,  while  our  small 
friends  above  send  a  shrill  little  cheer  after  us  by 
way  of  farewell,  which,  if  not  quite  so  loud  as  a 
royal  salute,  is  much  better  worth  having. 


THE  PRINCESS  BEATRICE. 

HALF  a  dozen  interesting  letters  containing 
Royal  gossip,  or  rather  items  of  home  life 
at  Windsor  and  Balmoral  were  once  given  to  me  by 
the  kind  friend  who  had  copied  all  that  could  be  of 
general  interest.  In  one  of  these  occurs  this  pas- 
sage : 

"  You  will  be  glad  to  hear  something  of  the  neic 
baby,  for  after  all  even  in  the  Royal  family  a  Prin- 
cess six  months  old  is  for  the  time  being  no  more 
nor  less  than  the  new  baby  and  the  Queen  and  the 
Prince  seem  to  regard  her  in  this  fond  homely  fash- 
ion. She  is  a  perfect  little  darling.  Very  pretty 
with  large  eyes  and  a  merry  little  mouth.     I  was  in 

the  nurseries  with  Lady  L yesterday  and  had 

her  some  time  in  my  arms  and  such  a  vigorous  dam- 
sel i     She  wanted  to  be  tossed  and  played  with  and 
danced  about  perpetually. 
171 


172  THE    PRINCESS    BEATRICE. 

"  Lady  L told  me  that  she  had  never  known 

the  Prince  so  devoted  to  any  one  of  the  Royal  chil- 
dren ;  that  he  sent  for  the  baby  constantly  and  that 
already  she  knew  his  step  in  the  corridor.  A  little 
later  I  saw  her  going  out  for  an  airing  and  her  little 
chubby  rosy  face  surrounded  by  a  blue  hood  looked 

the  picture  of  health  and  contentment.  Mary  R 

told  me  that  the  Queen  looking  at  her  one  morning 
said  in  a  tone  of  infinite  satisfaction :  She  really 
looks  equal  to  any  country  peasant's  baby.  Don't 
you  think  so  ? '  She  has  the  exquisite  fairness 
which  the  Prince  of  Wales  showed  as  a  tiny  child, 
but  certainly  no  delicacy." 

This  baby,  destined  to  be  the  Queen's  close  com 
panion  for  so  many  sad  years  of  her  life,  was  cer- 
tainly most  welcomed  by  her  parents  and  all  the 
family  and  household,  and,  as  the  letter  I  have 
quoted  above  says,  the  Prince  Consort  made  her  a 
special  favorite  from  the  very  first ;  a  fact  which 
doubtless  drew  her  nearer  to  the  Queen  when  her 
husband  was  taken  from  her. 

The  Princess  was  born  at  Windsor  on  April  14, 
1857,  and  was  christened  "  Beatrice  Mary  Victoria 


THE    PRINCESS    BEATRICE  1 73 

Feodora."  A  general  discussion  took  place  before 
these  names  were  decided  upon,  a  fact  which  is  sur- 
prising since  the  Royal  family  make  not  the  slight- 
est use  of  any  name  excepting  their  first,  unless  in 
formal  signatures,  but  it  is  considered  a  special 
compliment  to  have  one's  name  included  in  a  royal 
christening.  The  Beatrice  was  for  the  sake  of  old 
English  associations,  the  Feodora  for  the  Queen's 
half-sister ;  and,  although  her  little  niece  never  used 
the  name,  she  was  taught  to  regard  her  aunt  with 
special  affection  because  of  it. 

As  "Beatrice,"  however,  the  new  baby  came  to 
be  known,  the  diminutive  "  Bee  "  and  "Trix,"  giv- 
ing way  to  the  loving  title  of  "  Baby  "  or,  from  her 
father,  of  the  "  Kleine  Madchen  "  (Little  maiden). 

The  life  of  Royal  children  requires  careful  con- 
sideration from  their  very  start,  since  either  by  in- 
heritance or  marriage  they  may  have  to  do  with  the 
government  of  nations;  becoming  figures  in  the 
history  of  their  time,  influencing  decisions,  if  not 
actual  laws,  and  certainly,  however  obscure  their 
rank  or  position,  having  a  direct  power  for  good  or 
ill  over  those  around  and  under  them. 


174  THE   PRINCESS    BEATRICE. 

The  Queen  of  England,  in  her  maternal  respon- 
sibilities, has  always  felt  keenly  that  she  had  a 
charge  from  the  nation  in  the  education  of  her  chil- 
dren. Perhaps  she  over-rates  their  power  now,  but 
any  one  who  has  made  a  residence  in  foreign 
countries  cannot  fail  to  be  impressed  by  the  ad- 
vantages for  doing  good  which  any  member  of  a 
Royal  family  possesses ;  when  we  consider  that 
from  their  attendance  at  a  Fair,  let  us  say,  to  their 
opening  a  public  building,  the  simple  fact  of  their 
presence,  can  benefit  the  charity  or  the  public  work, 
we  can  form  some  idea  of  the  responsibilities  of  a 
Royal  position  under  the  monarchical  rule,  and 
remembering  her  own  very  prudently  conducted 
childhood  the  Queen  educated  her  children  on  the 
most  conscientious  plan. 

And  how  is  a  Princess  "brought  up?"  For 
although  the  Princes  and  Princesses  of  to-day  do 
not  in  any  way  belong  to  Fairyland,  there  unques- 
tionably is  about  their  daily  lives  a  glamour  of 
romance  and  mystery,  the  interest  which  their  se- 
clusion from  the  public  eye  is  sure  to  produce  ;  and 
there  is  no  doubt  that  we  feel  a  curiosity  about  the 


THE   PRINCESS    BEATRICE.  I  75 

commonplace  details  which  bring  them  nearer  us, 
and  make  them  seem  "  like  other  people." 

A  little  American  girl  once  had  a  picture  of  the 
Princess  Beatrice  at  the  age  of  four  years,  which 
was  a  genuine  puzzle  to  her.  It  was,  as  she  said, 
"  only  a  little  girl,"  and  a  plainly  dressed  little  girl, 
too,  with  her  hair  in  a  round  comb ;  a  white  frock 
and  a  blue  sash,  and  for  ornament  only  a  slim  little 
gold  chain  with  a  locket  hanging  from  it.  But  that 
the  little  Royal  girl  was  very  like  others  of  her  age 
and  sex  was  shown  by  her  having  one  plump  hand 
on  her  chain — the  bit  of  adornment  evidently  pleas- 
ing her  as  much  as  though  she  were,  as  the  Ameri- 
can child  said,  "  anybody  else  !  " 

At  the  time  this  picture  was  taken  the  Princess 
was  just  beginning  to  have  a  life  of  special  rules  and 
regulations.  Hitherto  she  had  only  been  "  Baby," 
a  universal  pet  and  favorite,  always  merry,  good 
humored  and  attractive,  and  up  to  the  last  her  fath- 
er's darling. 

One  of  the  last  cheerful  hours  which  the  Prince 
spent  with  his  family  was  touchingly  described  to 
me.     "  Baby  "  came  in  for  her  full  share  of  notice, 


176  THE   PRINCESS    BEATRICE. 

and  the  Prince  for  nearly  half  an  hour  walked  up 
and  down  the  room  with  Beatrice  in  his  arms,  tell- 
"ing  her  stories,  and  enjoying  her  merry  prattle. 
She  was  extravagantly  fond  of  music,  and  still  hold- 
ing her  in  his  arms  the  Prince  went  to  the  piano, 
and  sang  and  played  for  her  little  German  "  Kinder- 
scenen  "  which  the  Princess  has  never  since  for- 
gotten, remembering  keenly,  she  says,  the  very 
cadence  of  his  voice  and  the  touch  of  his  fingers  on 
the  keys. 

With  the  first  hour  of  relief  from  the  Queen's 
agony  of  woe  at  the  Prince  Consort's  death,  the 
baby  of  the  household  was  associated.  Stricken  by 
her  loss,  the  Queen  could  not  weep ;  but  the  effect 
upon  her  brain  and  nerves  terrified  all  around  her. 
Pale  as  death,  but  dry-eyed,  sleepless,  and  cold,  the 
poor  widowed  lady  could  not  be  roused.  The  physi- 
cians declared  that  tears  would  be  her  salvation,  but 
unless  they  came  some  dreadful  illness  must  ensue. 

It  was  night ;  the  Queen  was  in  bed,  and  in  the 

nurseries  the  children  were  all  asleep.   Lady  L , 

the  wife  of  a  well  known  church  dignitary  and  one  of 
the  Queen's  most  intimate  friends,  went  to  the  Prin- 


The  princess  Beatrice.  177 

cess  Beatrice's  crib,  lifted  the  child,  still  sleeping, 
from  it,  and,  in  spite  of  remonstrances  from  the  head 
nurse,  carried  the  little  one  to  her  mother's  room, 
and  saying  not  a  word,  knelt  down  by  the  broken- 
hearted Queen,  putting  her  baby  —  the  Princess, 
"  Kleine  Madchen  "  —  softly  within  her  arms.  It 
was  enough.  The  mother's  heart  awakened :  the 
long-pent-up  tears  rushed  forth  and,  at  last,  holding 
her  baby  close  to  her  breast,  she  slept  peacefully ; 
her  health,  perhaps  her  life,  was  saved. 

At  six  years  of  age  the  Princess  had  regular  gov- 
ernesses and  instructors,  Prince  Leopold,  next  in 
years,  sometimes  joining  in  her  lessons ;  but  for  the 
most  part  she  was  alone  in  them,  being  so  much 
younger  than  the  rest  of  the  family.  Amusements, 
however,  were  not  wanting.  At  Windsor  she  had 
her  little  out-of-door  play-house,  and  there  she 
played  regularly  at  keeping  house,  learning  to 
cook,  bake  and  brew,  to  sweep  and  dust,  in  the 
most  fascinating  way,  and  in  her  own  little  garden 
cultivating  flowers  and,  on  a  very  small  scale,  vege- 
tables and  fruit !  Only  on  rare  occasions  during 
her  childish  days  was  the  young  Princess  seen  in 


178  THE    PRINCESS    BEATRICE. 

public.  A  story  is  told  of  her  escaping  from  her 
governess  one  day  in  the  Crystal  Palace  during 
some  special  "  show,"  so  anxious  was  she  to  dis 
cover  what  was  going  on  in  some  distant  portion 
of  the  hall  they  were  in,  indications  of  which  had 
attracted  her  attention.  How  she  contrived  it  is 
not  told,  but  at  all  events  she  reached  the  desired 
point  without  detection  and  found  herself  in  a  group 
of  children  around  a  table.  Some  careful  pur- 
chases were  in  contemplation  and  the  little  stranger 
was  allowed  to  look  at  the  things  and  express  her 
opinion.  She  was  in  the  act  of  calmly  saying  she 
wished  some  of  the  things  herself,  when  the  woman 
at  the  stall  recognized  her.  There  was  a  quick 
murmur,  "  it's  the  Princess  Beatrice,"  and  a  con- 
sternation among  the  company;  for  how  and  why 
she  was  there  was  not  apparent.  A  motherly-look- 
ing woman  in  the  little  crowd  stepped  forward  and 
said  in  broad  Scotch,  "  Eh,  but  she  only  a  chid 
after  all,  and  we  can  take  her  to  her  ain  easy  enough." 
And  with  little  ceremony  the  young  Princess  was 
picked  up  and  carried  back  to  "her  ain"  in  the 
Scotch  woman's  strong  arms !  Whatever  was  said 


H.   S.    H.    PRINCE    llliNRV    OF    UATTliNBERG 


THE   PRINCESS    BEATRICE.  IOI 

or  done  afterwards,  the  Princess  never  tried  to 
"  mingle  with  the  masses  "  on  any  subsequent  oc- 
casion ;  indeed  as  a  child  and  growing  girl,  her  rep- 
utation among  the  people  was  that  of  somewhat 
haughty  exclusiveness. 

The  routine  of  the  Princess'  life  was  arranged  by 
the  Queen  herself,  and  the  superintendence  of  her 
education,  although  nominally  in  the  hands  of 
others,  was  watched  over  carefully  by  the  Royal 
mother.  Regular  hours  were  enforced  beginning 
with  the  eight  o'clock  breakfast,  after  which  was  an 
hour  of  out-of-door  exercise  —  walking,  or  playing, 
or  riding  on  the  ponies  brought  from  Scotland  for 
the  Queen's  children  ;  a  morning  of  study  and  read- 
ing followed,  sometimes  diversified  by  a  visit  from 
the  Queen  who  either  examined  the  little  scholar  or 
listened  to  her  recitations,  discussing  the  child's 
progress  with  the  governess  in  a  sociable  way. 
When  suggestions  were  to  be  made,  the  Queen  was 
always  careful  not  to  seem  to  interfere  with  the 
teacher's  authority,  and  even  the  request  for  an 
extra  holiday  had  to  be  formally  made  through  the 
governess  and  with  her  full  sanction.     Masters  in 


152  THE    PRINCESS    BEATRICE. 

music,  drawing,  the  languages  and  dancing  came 
regularly,  and  like  all  the  English  Royal  family. 
Princess  Beatrice  is  a  good  linguist  and  excellent 
musician. 

On  one  occasion  her  music-master,  desiring  to 
show  the  Queen  how  well  his  pupil  was  progressing, 
suggested  they  should  practice  some  duets  for  her 
Majesty's  benefit.  Princess  Beatrice  was  much 
pleased  and  they  labored  some  weeks  over  the 
Fifth  Symphony,  and  some  arrangement  of  Men- 
delssohn's best  overtures.  When  the  evening  came 
for  the  Queen  to  hear  this  music,  the  Princess  was 
rather  alarmed,  but  her  master  assured  her  she 
would  do  well.  Judge,  however,  of  her  astonish- 
ment on  finding  placed  before  her  some  music  she 
had  never  seen  ! 

Vainly  did  she  protest  that  it  was  quite  impossi- 
ble—  she  could  not  read  it;  all  however  sotto-voce  to 

Professor  H .     He  insisted  that  she  could,  and 

so  off  they  started ;  the  Princess'  fright  gradually 
lessening  as  she  saw  that  she  was  doing  fairly  well, 

and  ending  by  a  genuine  success.    Professor  H 

explained  that  he  had  desired  to  show  the  Queen 


THE    PRINCESS    BEATRICE.  1 83 

by  this  bit  of  strategy  the  real  proficiency  of  the 
Princess  whose  "  pluck  "  he  knew  would  carry  her 
through. 

Although  so  great  a  favorite  with  her  mother,  and 
inclined  as  I  have  said  to  a  coldness  of  manner  not 
characteristic  of  the  Royal  family,  the  Princess  was 
not  a  spoiled  child,  and  was  made  to  exercise  self- 
control  and  submit  to  a  great  deal  of  discipline 
and  restraint  when  in  London  or  even  at  Windsor, 
so  that  it  is  no  wonder  she  welcomed  the  visits  to 
Osborne  or  Balmoral  where  she  has  always  had  so 
much  freedom  in  driving,  walking,  or  boating.  At 
Balmoral  above  all,  the  restraint  of  court  etiquette 
was  frequently  laid  aside  —  the  Princess  going  about 
quite  informally  visiting  the  cottagers,  nearly  all 
of  whom  are  on  the  friendliest  social  terms  with  the 
Queen  and  her  youngest  daughter. 

A  photograph  of  the  Princess  at  Balmoral  shows 
her  in  homelike  dress,  and  easy  attitude  in  one  of 
the  garden  chairs  ;  her  favorite  clog  curled  up  at  her 
feet,  her  book  open  on  her  knee ;  some  trifles 
scattered  near,  as  if  she  had  been  sewing  or  em- 
broidering, while  her  eyes  are  lifted  with  a  pleas- 


184  THE    PRINCESS    BEATRICE. 

ant  smile  in  them  to  a  lady  standing  at  her  side. 
This  picture,  one  of  a  private  collection,  suggests 
the  Princess  at  home  very  agreeably.  There,  it  is 
said,  she  is  full  of  animation,  good  spirits  and  kind- 
heartedness;  but  her  entire  devotion  to  the  Queen 
has  kept  her  from  the  sort  of  friendly  intercourse 
with  the  public  which  has  made  the  rest  of  the 
Royal  family  so  popular.  Perhaps  no  young  lady  in 
England  has  seen  as  little  of  society  as  the  Queen's 
youngest  daughter ;  she  has  paid  very  few  even  of  the 
country  house  visits  which  are  frequent  with  other 
members  of  the  Royal  family,  and  gone  to  but  few 
balls  during  the  ten  London  seasons  since  she  was 
first  formally  "in  society."  The  state  balls  at  Buck- 
ingham Palace  have  been  her  most  festive  occasions 
and  these,  although  very  magnificent  as  spectacles, 
can  scarcely  be  interesting  to  the  young  Princess, 
since  it  is  her  place  at  such  times  only  to  receive 
formally. 

Perhaps,  however,  the  most  amusing  part  is  the 
supper  which  is  in  its  way  rather  sociable.  Only 
certain  people  are  invited  to  the  banqueting  room 
with  the  Royal  family,  but  it  is  not  uncommon  to 


THE    PRINCESS    BEATRICE.  185 

find  several  Americans  in  the  company,  owing  to 
diplomatic  invitations  or  the  distinction  always 
shown  an  American  visitor  of  note.  At  a  stated 
hour  the  supper-room  doors  are  open ;  the  Royal 
family  enter  first,  followed  by  the  specially  invited 
guests.  As  soon  as  they  have  passed  in,  the  doors 
are  closed ;  the  Royal  people  seat  themselves  at  a 
table  at  one  end  of  the  room,  while  their  guests  are 
grouped  at  small  tables  ranged  about,  the  only  dif- 
ference in  service  being  that  all  articles  used  on  the 
Royal  table  are  of  gold,  while  those  upon  the  other 
tables  are  of  silver. 

Few  scenes  are  more  brilliant  however  so  far  as 
splendor  of  decoration,  toilettes,  uniforms  and  illu- 
mination are  concerned,  for  the  court  regulations 
of  dress  make  a  magnificent  attire  necessary ;  the 
trained  satins,  plumed  head  dresses,  and  the  blaze 
of  jewels  go  far  to  the  embellishing  the  scene,  while, 
to  the  least  among  the  servants  in  attendance,  a 
"  bravery  "  of  gold  lace  or  silver,  of  scarlet  coating 
and  white  silk  stockings,  is  required.  The  Queen's 
own  band  plays  during  the  supper;  flowers  make 
the  long  room  like  a  summer  garden,  and  the  most 


1 86  THE   PRINCESS    BEATRICE. 

dazzling  Venetian  glass  is  added  to  the  gold  and 
silver  service  of  the  tables.  Although  the  Queen 
herself  is  rarely  seen  at  these  state  entertainments, 
she  is  punctilious  to  the  last  degree  about  the  form- 
alities attending  them,  and  any  oversight  on  the 
part  of  the  officials  who  are  in  charge  meets  her 
prompt  disapproval. 

During  this  hour  of  supper  room  seclusion  the 
Royal  family  and  such  of  their  guests  as  are  of  Royal 
rank,  often  move  about  the  room  talking  to  this  one 
or  that,  and  evidently  enjoying  this  social  part  of 
the  evening  very  much.  An  American  lady  who 
was  present  during  a  state  ball  supper  two  years 
ago  wrote  as  follows  : 

"The  Prince  of  Battenberg  was  veiy cordial  and 
pleasant.  He  is  visiting  London,  you  know,  and 
is  apparently  well- pleased  with  everything  —  his 
American  friends  included.  He  is  as  handsome 
as  an  ideal  Prince  in  a  fairy  story,  dances  uncom 
monly  well  and  talks  better.  What  a  pity  he  is 
only  one  of  the  numerous  'small'  Geiman  Prin- 
ces, and  for  his  rank,  'poor.'  " 

It  was,  however,  during  this  very  visit  that  the 


THE    PRINCESS    BEATRICE.  1 87 

first  idea  of  a  marriage  between  Princess  Beatrice 
and  the  handsome  young  Henry  of  Batten  berg  was 
discussed  ;  but  a  great  many  points  have  to  be  con- 
sidered in  royal  alliances  which  need  not — happily 
—  disturb  the  peace  of  obscurer  people  who  con- 
template a  similar  change  in  their  state ;  the  first 
question  naturally  is  that  of  the  nearness  of  the 
Prince  or  Princess  to  a  throne. 

The  chances  of  succession  for  the  Queen's  young- 
est daughter  are  so  remote  that  they  need  scarcely 
be  considered  at  all ;  nearly  forty  heirs  being  in 
"  advance  right "  of  her  claim.  This  point,  there- 
fore, may  readily  be  waived,  and  the  marriage  of 
the  Princess  Beatrice  considered  as  one  of  affec- 
tion and  mutual  choice  ;  but  in  every  royal  marriage 
singular  though  it  may  seem,  the  opinion  of  differ- 
ent foreign  princes  has  to  be  taken  into  considera- 
tion. Offence  maybe  easily  given  to  some  country 
with  whom  England  is  on  special  terms  of  friend- 
liness by  a  marriage  which  would  associate  the  na- 
tion with  one  who  was  the  other's  enemy,  and  so 
you  see  however  far  from  the  Crown  a  prince  or 
princess  may  be,  there  is  all  this  to  be  thought  of 


t88  the  princess  Beatrice. 

before  a  marriage  is  sanctioned;  then  it  must  be 
formally  announced  by  the  Queen  to  Parliament  and 
the  country,  and  the  government  is  expected  to 
settle  an  annuity  on  the  bride  or  bridegroom-elect. 

But  the  home  formalities  are  less  severe.  Nat- 
urally the  proposal  is  made  in  a  very  ceremonious 
manner,  and  it  is  not  openly  discussed  until  the 
Queen  has  decided  to  favor  it.  Then  it  is  her  place 
to  give  the  young  man  "  permission  "  to  address  the 
Princess,  who,  however,  has  been  privately  allowed 
to  express  her  own  opinion ;  after  which  the  con- 
gratulations of  the  family  are  mingled  with  a  quiet 
homelike  festivity  to  make  the  event  as  like  any 
ordinary  betrothal  as  possible. 

In  the  case  of  the  Princess  Beatrice,  marriage 
will  make  but  little  difference  in  her  home  life  since, 
owing  to  the  Queen's  loneliness,  the  "  Kleine  Mad- 
chen,"  dear  companion  of  her  widowed  life,  will  not 
leave  Windsor,  so  that  we  may  infer  as  Princess  of 
Battenberg  she  will  have  much  the  same  daily  life 
as  heretofore ;  and  a  glimpse  in  upon  her  routine, 
her  surroundings  to-day  will  indicate  what  they  will 
be  in  the  future. 


H.   R.   H.   PRINCESS   BEATRICE. 


THE    PRINCESS    BEATRICE.  191 

Let  us  begin  with  what  we  may  consider  the  Prin- 
cess' own  "  household  "  —  the  people  directly  in  her 
service. 

Court  etiquette  and  custom  prescribe  that  as  soon 
as  a  Princess  leaves  the  schoolroom,  a  special  "  lady- 
in-waiting,"  or  companion,  be  assigned  her.  The 
duties  of  this  lady  are  not  severe,  although  she 
must,  of  course,  accommodate  her  "  times  and  sea- 
sons "  to  that  of  the  Princess ;  but  when  in  tete-e- 
tete  there  is  very  little  of  the  restraint  or  formality 
in  their  intercourse  which  made  the  court  of  Queen 
Charlotte,  the  wife  of  George  III.,  so  dreary  to 
every  one  connected  with  it.  In  those  days  the 
ladies  of  the  court  waited  long  for  permission  to  sit 
down,  never  began  a  conversation  and  rarely  ad- 
vanced an  idea ;  but  times  and  feelings  as  well  as 
customs  have  changed.  The  Princess  Beatrice's 
"  lady  "  is  her  friend  and  associate  ;  they  talk,  work, 
read  together  of  a  morning,  share  their  drives  and 
walks,  and  have  much  in  common,  while  the  "lady  " 
is  at  far  greater  liberty  than  her  royal  mistress. 
She  can  go  out  into  the  general  world  and  lead  a 
far  wider  life  than  that  which  belongs  to  Windsor 


192  THE    PRINCESS    BEATRICE. 

or  Balmoral ;  but  a  rule  absolutely  enforced,  and 
which  I  have  never  known  to  be  infringed  upon,  is 
that  in  company  one  of  the  Royal  household  must 
never  speak  of  the  datails  connected  with  his  or  her 
court-life  :  a  fact  which  accounts  for  the  scarcity  of 
reliable  chit-chat  about  Royal  people.  Those  most 
intimately  associated  with  the  Queen  and  her  fam- 
ily are  from  etiquette  most  reticent. 

The  usual  period  of  "  waiting,"  or  attendance,  is 
three  months ;  but  in  the  case  of  the  Princess 
Beatrice  this  time  is  often  extended  —  her  lady 
companion  being  unmarried  and  consequently  hav- 
ing no  rigid  home-ties  such  as  have  to  govern  many 
of  the  ladies  attached  to  the  Queen's  household. 
With  these  constant  companions  habits  of  familiar 
ii  tercourse  are  formed  and  bonds  of  truest  fiiend 
snip  made ;  the  English  Royal  family  being  noted 
for  their  loyalty  to  those  who  have  served  them  or 
been  their  friends.  A  second  lady  belonging  to  the 
Princess'  retinue  has  the  duty  of  reader  and  secre- 
tary, added  to  the  performance  of  various  general 
small  offices,  such  as  a  lady  in  a  lower  rank  of  life 
would  do  for  herself ;  and  this  attendant  is  a  for 


THE   PRINCESS    BEATRICE. 


193 


eigner,  so  that  the  languages  so  early  and  fluently 
acquired  are  kept  up.  Next  come  the  "dressers" 
of  the  Princess,  whose  duties  are  like  those  of  any 
ladies  maid ;  there  are  two,  and  they  are  expected 
to  take  entire  charge  of  the  Princess'  wardrobe 
which,  be  it  known  —  except  in  the  matter  of  jewels 
—  is  far  more  simple  than  that  of  any  American 
girl  of  fashion.  Having  seen  the  Princess  re- 
peatedly, I  can  venture  to  say  that  I  never  but  once 
saw  hei  dressed  as  elegantly  or  richly  as  any  so- 
called  American  society  girl  would  have  been  at- 
tired on  similar  occasions.  Of  the  exception  I  will 
speak  later. 

I  recall  the  tall  fair  English-looking  girl  on  one 
summer's  day  in  a  pretty  blue  and  white  linen  gown, 
with  a  gray  and  blue  straw  bonnet,  gray  gant  de  suede 
and  a  white  parasol,  driving  with  her  companion 
to  one  of  the  hospitals  she  patronizes ;  again  at  an 
artist's  studio,  in  the  plainest  of  tailor-made  cloth 
costumes,  with  a  cloth  "  toque  "  and  long  dark 
gloves ;  and  once  in  the  Park  on  a  brilliant  June 
afternoon  in  white  camel's  hair,  or  nun's  veiling, 
with  a  huge  bouquet  of  damask  roses  in  her  hands. 


194  THE    PRINCESS    BEATRICE. 

But  the  impression  was  always  of  absolute  simplic- 
ity, so  that  perhaps  the  purity  of  her  complexion, 
the  pretty  tints  of  her  hair,  and  her  large  quiet  eyes 
were  the  more  attractive  ;  one  had  time  to  think  of 
their  girlish  charm. 

When  at  home  the  Princess  has  in  her  service  a 
special  page  or  man-servant,  and  her  lady-in-wait- 
ing has  one  also  provided  by  the  house  steward ; 
their  duties  are  to  answer  the  bells  belonging  to  the 
Princess'  rooms,  or  perform  any  of  the  errands  or 
messages  the  Princess  or  her  lady  require.  All 
letters  for  the  Princess,  excepting  those  sent  or  re 
ceived  by  the  people  known  as  "Queen's  messen- 
gers," come  first  to  the  custody  of  an  official  at 
court,  and  only  such  as  the  Princess  considers 
worth  while  are  answered.  The  letters  from  her 
regular  correspondents  in  the  family  are  all  sent 
by  special  messengers,  several  of  whom  are  con- 
stantly employed  going  back  and  forth  between 
England  and  other  countries.  In  this  connection  I 
might  say  that  a  large  portion  of  Princess  Beatrice's 
time,  hitherto,  has  been  devoted  to  her  mother's 
private    correspondence,  of   which   she    has   had 


THE    PRINCESS    BEATRICE.  195 

almost  the  entire  charge ;  and  it  is  said  that  she 
herself  writes  the  most  fascinating  letters,  full  of 
"  wit  and  wisdom." 

It  may  be  interesting  to  young  readers  to  know 
something  of  the  etiquette  which  governs  the  Prin- 
cess' social  life.  To  begin  with  the  matter  of  visits : 
These  are  regulated  by  the  Piincess  herself.  That 
is,  she  invites  the  call,  although  when  a  person  with 
whom  she  is  well  acquainted  has  any  special  rea- 
son for  desiring  to  see  her,  it  may  be  made  known 
through  her  lady-in-waiting,  who  then  writes  or 
sends  word  to  the  friend  that  at  such  a  time  her 
Royal  Highness  would  be  glad  to  receive  a  visit ; 
when  a  more  extended  invitation  is  to  be  given  it 
again  comes  through  the  Princess'  companion.  On 
arriving  at  Windsor  the  guest  is  conducted  to  the 
Princess'  private  sitting-room,  where  she  remains 
until  the  Princess  gives  some  signal  for  her  to  with- 
draw, the  only  special  formality  attending  the  visit. 
I  have  seen  the  Princess  in  a  small,  rather  informal 
company  when  people  were  brought  up  by  her  re- 
quest to  be  introduced  to  her,  and  the  only  differ- 
ence noticeable  in  their  manner  and  that  of  others 


196  THE    PRINCESS    BEATRICE 

in  the  rooms,  was  the  little  sort  of  courtesy  made 
on  going  up  and  leaving.  The  conversation  was 
free  and  sociable,  the  Princess  animated  and  very 
much  entertained,  it  would  appear,  by  what  was 
said  to  her. 

When  she  desires  to  visit  any  special  place  —  the 
studio  of  an  artist  or  to  see  any  special  collection, 
let  us  say  —  the  artist,  or  owner,  is  notified,  and  of 
course  other  guests  are  for  the  time  being  excluded . 
the  Princess  and  her  attendants,  however,  coming 
with  very  little  ceremony. 

Occasionally  the  Queen  and  her  youngest  daugh 
ter  have  made  visits  to  some  of  their  friends'  large 
country-houses,  and  on  such  occasions  special  suites 
of  rooms  are  set  aside  for  the  Royal  party,  and  of 
course  while  they  are  being  entertained  the  host 
and  hostess  regulate  all  the  movements  of  their 
household  in  accordance  with  the  Queen's  wishes. 
I  turn  again  to  notes  from  letters  loaned  me  : 

"The  Queen,  Princess  Beatrice  and  suite  ar- 
rived last  evening  to  remain  three  days,"  writes  a 

guest  from  N Castle.   "  I  was  greatly  interested 

in  seeing  the  young  Princess  after  dinner  when  she 


THE    PRINCESS    BEATRICE.  197 

came  into  the  long  drawing  room  with  the  other 
ladies  and  talked  half  an  hour  or  so.  She  is  very 
pleasing ;  exceedingly  intelligent  and  quick  in  the 
way  she  notices  what  is  said  about  her.  In  fact  she 
is  —  to  speak  plainly  —  not  devoid  of  the  usual  curi- 
osity of  her  sex  about  small  matters  as  well  as  great. 

She  was  much  entertained  by  J 's  Pompeian 

ring  and  told  us  something  novel  about  recent  exca- 
vations with  what  J called  a  'very  pretty  power 

of  description.'  She  is  rather  too  dignified  for  her 
years,  and  a  trifle  cold  except  when  animated  by 
conversation,  but  otherwise  fair  and  sweet  in  face 

and  manner The  Queen  breakfasts  in 

her  apartments  with  the  Princess,  Brown  in  attend- 
ance, and  afterwards  receives  visits  from  the  people 
in  the  house,  walks  or  drives  in  the  Park  and  about. 

Her  dinner  party  is  always  small,  Lady  N says, 

and  she  will  not  come  regularly  to  the  long  drawing- 
room I  was  honored  by  an  invitation 

'  up  stairs  '  to-day,  and  heard  the  Princess  play  — 
she  is  an  admirable  musician.  Charles  Halle  has 
taught  her  well,  she  has  thoroughly  his  precision. 
She  is  very  fond  of  German  music  and  gives  it  in 


198  THE    PRINCESS    BEATRICE. 

the  right  way.  She  and  the  Queen  play  duets  a 
great  deal,  J says." 

This  short  extract  conveys  some  idea  of  theexclu- 
siveness  which  attends  even  a  visit  from  Royalty. 
The  other  guests  in  the  house,  although  invited  with 
a  special  view  to  meeting  the  Queen  or  Princess, 
must  await  a  summons,  and  are  "  honored  "  by  the 
half-hour's  after-dinner  chat  in  the  drawing-room; 
but  we  must  remember  that  Royalty  is  part  and 
parcel  of  the  nation,  and  its  personal  dignity  has  to  be 
maintained  as  severely  as  a  military  discipline  — 
that  kind  of  exclusiveness  being  as  necessary  an 
adjunct  as  is  the  pomp  and  ceremony  of  field  parade. 

One  autumn  day  we  found  ourselves  part  of  a 
company  waiting  to  receive  the  Queen  and  Princess 
Beatrice  at  a  country  railway  station  in  England. 
The  occasion  was  so  important  a  one  that  all  the 
townspeople  would  like  to  have  made  it  very 
demonstrative,  but  the  Queen  had  desired  to  have 
the  visit  pass  off  quie  tly  as  possible.  However,  there 
was  a  large  crowd  gathered  on  either  side  of  the 
railed-off  portion  of  the  platform,  and  everywhere 
as  gay-looking  decorations  as  they  could  devise  in 


THE    PRINCESS    BEATRICE.  i<)9 

a  "  quiet  way  "  and  on  a  few  hours'  notice.  The 
Queen  and  the  Princess  were  coming  to  lunch  and 
spend  the  morning  with  the  Prime  Minister,  Lord 
Beaconsfield,  whose  grand  country-house  was  about 
three  miles  from  this  little  station,  and  pretty  pros- 
perous town.  A  small  party  of  the  "gentry  "  in  the 
neighborhood  were  with  Lord  Beaconsfield  at  the 
station,  and,  as  we  chanced  to  be  the  guests  of  one 
of  the  gentlemen  in  the  party,  we  had  a  pleasant 
opportunity  of  seeing  the  Royal  party  almost  in 
what  might  be  considered  an  informal  way.  So 
rarely  do  her  subjects  see  the  Queen  of  England 
that  every  eye  was  strained  to  gaze  upon  the  small 
dignified  little  lady  of  middle  age  and  a  very  fair 
pleasing  countenance,  whom  Lord  Beaconsfield  as- 
sisted first  from  the  railway  carriage,  and  who  stood 
a  little  while  among  us  on  the  platform. 

But  I  confess  my  interest  was  very  great  in  the 
young  Princess  —  then  in  her  twenty-fourth  year  — 
who,  with  one  lady-in-waiting,  accompanied  her. 
Dressed  in  some  very  rich  dark  fabric  with  the 
finest  of  sable  for  trimmings,  the  Princess  Beatrice 
looked  very  thoroughly  like  one's  idea  of  what  a 


200  THE   PRINCESS    BEATRICE. 

"Queen's  daughter"  should  be.  Tall,  and  very 
stately  in  demeanor,  she  possesses  the  fair  color- 
ing of  her  father's  race,  with  a  mingling  of  the 
Teuton  and  Saxon,  like  all  the  Queen's  children, 
but  with  something  more  regular  in  the  outline  of 
feature,  and  at  the  same  time  of  a  decidedly  vigor- 
ous type  ;  the  clear  pink-and-white  tone  of  her  skin, 
the  red  lips,  the  strength  of  shoulder,  and  the  finely- 
carried  head  all  contriving  to  make  the  Princess 
Beatrice  a  fair  representative  English  maiden. 

As  the  only  one  of  the  Queen's  daughters  who 
belongs  to  the  young  generation  as  it  were,  a  special 
interest  attaches  to  her  life  and  her  marriage ;  and  in 
spite  of  all  maternal  fondness,  and  the  fact  that  she 
will  not  make  a  new  home  of  her  own,  the  real 
family-life  of  Queen  Victoria  ends  when  ner  daugh- 
ter Beatrice  shall  be  known  as  the  Princess  of  Bat- 
tenberg. 


OUR     ROYAL     NEIGHBORS 
AT    SANDRINGHAM. 


r  DARE  say  all  American  boys  and  girls  very 
*  well  know  Sandringham  to  be  the  name  of 
the  house  in  which  the  Prince  of  Wales  lives  when 
he  is  quite  at  home.  I  have  the  good  fortune  to 
live  within  a  few  miles  of  the  estate,  and  we  often 
drive  there,  especially  when  we  have  any  visitor 
staying  with  us  whose  heart,  like  ours,  is  cram-full 
of  loyalty,  as  we  had  last  November.  The  Prince 
and  Princess  are  always  at  home  at  that  time,  and 
remain  to  spend  Christmas.  They  had,  as  usual, 
been  entertaining  the  people  of  the  county  with 
dancing  and  festivity.  It  was  the  morning  after 
the  ball,  and  there  was  to  be  a  grand  meet  of  the 
hunt  at  Hillington,  and  we  decided  to  drive  to  see 
the  royal  party  leave  the  hall. 


202  OUR    ROYAL    NEIGHBORS    AT    SANDRINGHAM. 

It  was  a  brilliant  frosty  morning,  and  off  we  rat- 
tled through  the  little  village  and  out  into  the  open 
country,  gay  with  autumnal  coloring,  the  sea  glit- 
tering and  sparkling  in  the  far  off  distance.  We 
rushed,  up  hill  and  down  dale,  through  villages 
that  woke  up  to  see  us  pass,  and  along  great  com- 
mons grand  in  their  noble  solitude,  then  up  a  pretty 
little  wooded  steep,  and  there  the  Park  lies  before 
us  in  all  its  English  beauty.  Here  are  the  Nor- 
wich gates,  handsome  iron  structures,  presented 
to  the  Prince  of  Wales  by  the  inhabitants  of  the 
ancient  cathedral  city.  There  is  the  long  avenue 
of  noble  oaks  and  beeches;  and  then  the  house 
itself — a  plain  and  somewhat  homely-looking  build- 
ing. 

A  soldierly  looking  policeman  is  standing  at  the 
gates.  Uncle  Raymond,  who  is  driving,  jumps 
down  and  accosts  him  :  "  Has  the  Prince  gone  yet  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  you're  in  plenty  of  time.  You  had 
better  go  round  to  Cook's  Lodge,  and  drive  slowly 
up  the  hill  ;  you're  sure  to  see  him  pass." 

We  drive  on  again.  Everything  savors  of  roy- 
alty. Prince  of  Wales'  feathers  meet  the  eye  at  every 


OUR    ROYAL    NEIGHBORS    AT   SANDRINGHAM.  203 

turn  ;  even  the  very  carts  bear  his  name  upon  them 
as  they  pass.  And  now  we  take  position  on  the  hill. 
A  quarter  of  an  hour  goes  slowly  by,  and  yet  we 
see  and  hear  nothing. 

"  Is  it  possible,"  cries  Uncle  Raymond  taking  out 
his  watch,  "  that  we  have  had  our  drive  for  nothing  ? 
Here  is  a  man,  I'll  ask  him." 

The  laborer  civilly  informs  us  that  the  Prince  is 
snipe-shooting  at  Wolverton,  and,  touching  his  hat, 
passes  on. 

We  groan  audibly.  A  gentleman  in  hunting  cos- 
tume, but  on  foot,  appears  in  the  distance.  As  he 
approaches  Uncle  Raymond  questions  him  :  "  Does 
the  Prince  go  hunting  to-day?" 

"  Yes  ;  he  does  go  hunting  to-day." 

"Will  he  pass  this  way?" 

"He  will  pass  this  way;  you  cannot  possibly 
miss  him." 

Presently  carts  and  wagonettes  go  by ;  and  then 
a  string  of  the  royal  hunters  step  proudly  past  us. 
Then  two  or  three  red  coats  appear,  more  wagon- 
ettes, more  strings  of  hunters,  more  red-coats,  all 
looking  as  "  fresh  as  paint  and  as  cheerful  as  par- 


204  OUR    ROYAL    NEIGHBORS   AT   SANDRINGHAM. 

rots.''  And  then  comes  a  pause.  We  are  alone 
once  more.  But  soon  a  gentleman  rides  slowly  out 
of  the  gates,  immediately  followed  by  a  laughing 
cavalcade. 

It  is  the  Prince  ! 

He  on  the  gray  horse,  at  the  head  of  the  caval- 
cade, comes  slowly  up  the  hill. 

Uncle  Raymond  stands  bareheaded  at  the  pony's 
head.  The  Prince's  eye  is  upon  us  and,  noting 
Uncle  Raymond's  bare  head,  he  lifts  his  hat,  bows 
graciously  and  gallops  rapidly  forward.  He  looked 
very  handsome  in  his  red  coat,  every  inch  the  Prince 
of  Wales,  and  England's  future  King. 

Then  there  is  more  waiting  until  an  open  car- 
riage, drawn  by  four  horses  with  postilions  turns 
the  corner.  Two  gentlemen  are  on  the  box,  then 
two  ladies,  then  a  lady  and  gentleman.  The  Prin- 
cess is  on  the  second  seat,  and  on  our  side..  As 
she  passes,  looking  pale,  but  very  sweet  and  pretty, 
she,  too,  bows  in  the  most  charming  manner.  Then 
she  also  passes  out  of  sight.  Our  guest  had  seen 
the  Prince  and  Princess. 

We  took  another  visitor  to  Sandrin<rham  when 


OUR    ROYAL    NEIGHBORS    AT    SANDR1NGHAM.  205 

the  family  were  away.  I  remember  that  we  visited 
the  little  rural  church,  across  the  park  to  which  the 
Princess  used  to  steal  so  often  on  those  dull  winter 
days  more  than  twelve  years  ago,  when  it  was  be 
lieved  the  Prince  lay  dying,  and  all  England  waited 
in  suspense  the  issues  of  life  or  death.  Just  with- 
out the  east  window,  in  the  mossy  green  of  the 
churchyard,  there  is  a  little  grave  with  simple  mar- 
ble cross  and  low  iron  railing.  Here  lies  the 
little  Prince  who  only  lived  through  one  short  day, 
the  third  son  of  the  royal  pair,  Alexander  John 
Charles  Albert.  Scarcely  a  stone's  throw  from  this 
is  the  grave  of  the  favorite  young  groom,  Charles 
Blagg,  who  died  of  the  same  illness  that  seized  the 
Prince  in  that  memorable  winter  of  '71.  A  stone 
cross  marks  the  spot,  and  on  the  reverse  of  the 
cross  is  engraved  by  the  Prince's  special  command  : 
"  The  one  was  taken  and  the  other  left."  This  is  one 
of  the  many  little  incidents  which  prove  to  us  Eng- 
lish people  that  our  Prince  possesses  a  warm  heart. 
He  who  could  be  touched  by  the  death  of  a  ser- 
vant, and  acknowledge  that  God's  Providence  alone 
had   preserved   him  Tro.n  sharing  the  same  fate, 


206  OUR    ROYAL    NEIGHBORS    AT   SANDRINGHAM. 

must  be  possessed  of  deep  and  lender  feelings.     In 
I  he  chancel  of  the   little  church,  erected    by  the 


H.    K.    H.,   LOUISE   OF    HALES. 

Prince's  order  to  the  memory  of  his  sister  the 
Princess  Alice,  is  another  tablet  inscribed  by  him : 


OUR    ROYAL    NEIGHBORS    AT    SANDRINGHAM.  207 

"  This  monument  is  erected  by  her  devoted  and  sorrow- 
ing brother  Albert  Edward,  Prince  of  Wales." 

We  left  the  churchyard  to  enter  the  park  and 
grounds  surrounding  the  hall.  There  is  much  of  in- 
terest to  be  seen.  Although  no  portion  of  the  house  is 
ever  shown,  by  favor  we  were  allowed  to  go  into  the 
Princess'  little  tea-room  adjoining  her  dairy;  an 
exquisite  little  room  decorated  with  gifts  from  her 
personal  friends  in  the  shape  of  pictures,  painted 
panels,  plaques  etc.  etc.  Here  she  frequently  enter- 
tains her  especial  friends  at  afternoon  tea,  part  of 
the  meal  being  a  large  home-baked  loaf,  for  which 
the  Princess  always  stipulates,  and  from  which  she 
cufs  slices  for  her  guests  with  her  own  hands. 
The  big,  cool  dairy  is  perfect  in  its  arrangement, 
and  the  cream  from  those  large  white  pans  is  sim- 
ply delicious.  This  is  one  of  tire  homely  tastes 
that  so  endears  the  Princess  to  us,  because  it  shows 
that  amidst  all  the  grandeur  by  which  she  is  nec- 
essarily surrounded,  she  still  preserves  her  fond- 
ness for  simple  pleasures  and  for  housewifely  ways. 

Here  in  these  green  lanes  and  woods  she  fre- 
quently puts  aside  the  accessories  of  royalty.     A 


208  OUR    ROYAL    NEIGHBORS    AT    SANDRINGHAM. 

few  years  ago,  she  and  some  of  her  children  had 
enjoyed  a  considerable  ramble,  and  were  exces- 
sively fatigued,  when  opportunely  an  old  man  passed 
them  driving  a  sand-cart.  The  Princess  instantly 
accosted  him,  asking  him  to  give  them  a  lift.  He, 
addressing  her  as  "my  good  lady,''  bade  her  and 
the  children  "jump  up.''  This  they  did,  im- 
mensely enjoying  the  "lark."'  They  chatted  pleas- 
antly as  they  jogged  along  ( for  our  Norfolk  la- 
borers are  singularly  shrewd  and  intelligent,  and 
always  ready  to  respond  when  talked  to),  until  they 
came  to  the  big  iron  gates  where  the  ways  divide. 
The  man  then  asked  the  "good  lady  :'  where  he 
should  set  them  down. 

She  said  he  might  drive  straight  on.  Now 
"straight  on"  meant  through  those  big  Norwich 
gates  which  admit  you  into  the  approach  to  the 
hall.  The  man  hesitated.  The  Princess  insisted  ; 
and  moreover  she  made  him  drive  up  to  the  very 
door  where  kings  and  dukes  and  all  imaginable 
grandees  are  received.  I  wonder  whose  surprise 
was  the  greater,  that  of  the  driver  of  the  sand- 
cart,  or  that  of  the  Princess'  attendants  when  she 


OUR    ROYAL    NEIGHBORS    AT   SANDRINGHAM.  209 

alighted  at  her  own  door  from  this  novel  equipage  ! 

Only  a  few  months  ago  the  Princess,  before  leav- 
ing Sandringham,  went  to  take  a  farewell  gift  of 
photographs  to  one  of  the  people  on  the  estate. 
A  new  maid-servant  opened  the  door  to  her. 

"Is  Mr.  So-and-So  at  home ?  "  asked  the  Princess. 

"  No,  Miss,"  said  the  girl,  "  but  he  won't  be  long ; 
will  you  come  in  and  wait  a  bit  ?  " 

"Tell  him,"  said  the  laughing  Princess,  as  she 
handed  over  the  packet,  "  that  the  Princess  of 
Wales  brought  these  for  his  acceptance." 

The  Princess  herself  repeated  this  story  to  the 
gentleman  of  the  house,  who  quickly  responded  : 

"  No  stranger  would  ever  take  your  Royal  High- 
ness to  be  the  mother  of  those  fine  young  men," 
referring  to  the  Princes. 

But  to  return  to  Sandringham.  We  wandered 
down  by  the  lake,  and  went  into  a  beautiful  little 
cave  which  the  water  enters  and  forms  a  deep,  still, 
dark  pool,  such  a  contrast  to  the  sunlit  lake  out- 
side, over  the  surface  of  which  some  lovely  swans 
and  water  fowl  were  gliding.  We  walked  on  the 
broad  long  terrace,  and  saw  Prince  Eddy  (who  is 


2IOOUR    ROYAL    NEIGHBORS   AT   SANDRIKGHAM. 

now  at  Sandringham  with  a  tutor,  studying),  play- 
ing at  tennis  in  the  court  with  the  vicar  and  his 
wife,  and  some  friends.  Then  we  went  through  the 
stables,  and  saw  the  tiny  pony  that  was  made  such 
a  pet  of  by  the  royal  children  that  it  used  to  follow 
them  up  and  down  stairs.  We  were  shown  also,  a 
little  old-fashioned  pony-chaise,  never  used  now, 
which  the  Prince  of  Wales  first  drove  out  in  as  a  tiny 
boy.  Next  we  went  to  the  kennels  to  see  the  dogs ; 
fine  fellows  they  are,  with  big  loving  eyes,  and 
nice  smooth  foreheads.  Then  on  to  the  bears  ;  there 
are  two,  named  Charlie  and  Polly.  They  went 
through  their  little  performance  obediently,  climb- 
ing a  pole  and  catching  the  biscuits  we  threw  to 
them,  sometimes  with  their  mouths,  sometimes  with 
their  paws.     Next  came  the  monkeys. 

By  this  time  we  began  to  feel  that  we  had  done 
our  duty  right  loyally;  so  Uncle  Raymond  went 
back  to  the  "  model  farm  "  where  he  had  left  the 
pony.  He  was  put  into  the  shafts  by  a  dear  old 
farm  laborer  who  told  Uncle  Raymond  how  he 
often  went  round  the  farm  with  the  Prince,  and  that 
they  were  frequently  alone  together  for  hours,  and 


OUR   ROYAL   NEIGHRORS    A?"   SANDRINGHAM.  21 T 

the  Prince  always  talking  freely.  He  said  he  went 
part  of  the  way  to  India  with  the  Prince  on  board 
the  SeraJ>is,  to  take  some  cattle  to  the  King  of 
Greece  ;  he  spoke  of  the  kindness  to  King  George, 
and  of  how  he  used  often  to  come  and  talk  to  him. 
When  he  left,  the  king  gave  him  a  portrait  of  him- 
self and  of  all  his  family.  He  was  sent  to  Den- 
mark once,  too,  to  take  some  cattle  from  the  Prince 
to  his  kingly  father-in-law,  and  met  with  plenty  of 
kindness. 

Of  course,  we  who  constantly  live  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Sandringham  hear,  and  speak,  and 
think  much  of  our  royal  neighbors.  We  see  them 
apart  from  the  trappings  of  royalty,  we  meet  them 
riding  and  driving  about  the  pleasant  country  lanes 
and  we  hear  of  them  fulfilling  —  as  they  delight  to 
— the  homely  duties  of  Squire  and  Squiress.  The 
Prince  is  a  model  landlord,  and  the  Princess  in 
her  home  is  a  bright  example  of  what  a  woman 
should  be  as  mistress,  wife,  and  mother.  Only  the 
other  day  I  heard  of  her  entering  one  of  the  cot- 
tages where  lay  a  poor  man  who  had  met  with  an 
accident,  laden  with  salves  and  old  linen.     She  ex- 


212  OUR    ROYAL    NEtGHBORS   AT   SANDRINGHAM. 

amined  his  wound,  and  then  dressed  and  bandaged 
it  with  her  own  hands  so  skilfully  that  the  parish 
doctor  thought  another  medical  man  had  been 
called  in  to  attend  his  patient,  and  refused  to  con- 
tinue to  treat  him  himself.  Whereupon  the  Princess, 
with  a  sly  laugh  doubtless,  for  she  has  a  very  keen 
sense  of  humor,  sent  another  doctor  to  the  sufferer. 

To  the  old  cottagers  the  Prince  has  always 
seemed  more  like  a  country  Squire  than  England's 
future  king;  they  do  not  realize  his  position  apart 
from  Sandringham.  His  pleasant  bonhomie,  his 
generosity,  his  kind-heartedness  have  endeared  him 
to  them.  As  the  plain  but  familiar  equipage  goes 
by,  the  laborer  looks  up  from  his  toil  in  the  fields 
to  murmur  "The  Prince,  God  bless  him  !" 

A  favorite  resort  of  the  royal  pair  in  the  early 
days  of  their  married  life  was  a  little  seaside  vil- 
lage about  nine  miles  distant  from  Sandringham, 
which  has  since  given  its  name  to  a  popular  sum- 
mer resort  close  by.  Here  is  a  wide  sea-beach, 
with  level  stretches  of  brown-ribbed  sand,  low  sand- 
hills, and  cliffs  whereon  a  lighthouse  stands.  One 
of  the  keepers  of  that  Light  was  a  garrulous  old 


OUR    ROYAL    NEIGHBORS   AT    SANDRINGHAM.  213 

man  with  whom  it  was  pleasant  to  linger  for  a  chat, 
as  one  rested  on  the  bench  under  the  white  wall 
which  skirted  the  Lighthouse  garden,  on  some 
bright  sunshiny  morning,  with  the  grand  panorama 
of  sea  and  sky,  and  the  low  line  of  the  distant 
Lincolnshire  coast,  spread  out  before  one.  Just  in 
such  a  way  I  have  often  rested  and  talked  to  him, 
or  listened  while  he  told  me  how  he  had  many  a 
time  seen  the  young  royal  pair  upon  the  sands  be- 
low, at  play  like  a  couple  of  children,  pushing  each 
other  into  the  water,  or  drenching  each  other  with 
the  salt  sea  spray.  They  used  to  drive  from  Sand- 
ringham  with  as  few  attendants  as  possible,  put  up 
their  carriage  and  horses  at  a  little  old-fashioned 
inn  near  the  shore,  and  walk  down  to  the  beach. 
The  landlord  of  this  inn  is  (for  he  still  lives)  an  ec- 
centric character,  come  of  an  old  gypsy  family  es- 
tablished for  more  than  five  centuries  in  the  village, 
during  which  time  every  now  and  then  the  gypsy 
blood  would  break  out  and  some  one  member  of 
the  family  would  take  to  roving.  The  old  man  him- 
self did  so  in  his  young  days.  Curiously  enough 
his  surname  is  Wales,  and  one  day  he  said  to  the 


214  OUR    ROYAL    NEIGHBORS    AT    SANDRINGHAM. 

Prince,  "  Your  Royal  Highness  must  surely  be  re- 
lated to  me,  for  my  name  is  Wales."  The  Prince 
was  mightily  amused  with  the  old  man's  joke,  and 
showed  his  appreciation  of  it  by  repeating  it  often. 
These  little  excursions  generally  included  a  pic- 
nic lunch,  either  on  the  beach,  or  in  the  park  which 
forms  a  part  of  the  estate  of  the  lord  of  the  manor, 
who  was  then  an  absentee,  representing  the  British 
government  at  Washington.  An  invariable  feature 
of  these  picnics  was  the  boiling  of  a  potful  of 
potatoes  over  a  gypsy  fire.  On  this  the  Princess 
always  insisted.  On  one  of  these  occasions  an  old 
woman  familiarly  known  in  the  village  as  "granny," 
whose  birth  was  lost  in  the  mist  of  antiquity  be- 
cause, as  she  herself  told  me,  "  her  mother  never 
wrote  it  down,"  danced  before  their  royal  high- 
nesses, and  was  rewarded  with  a  shower  of  small 
coins.  The  sum  of  poor  old  "  granny's  "  years  is 
told  now,  and  she  is  gone  home,  and  changes  of 
various  kinds  have  put  an  end  to  these  rural  pic- 
nics on  the  beach.  Only  now  and  again,  generally 
when  they  are  down  for  the  Easter  recess,  the  Prince 
and  Princess  visit  the  shore  with  their  children  ; 


our  royal  Neighbors  At  sandringham.  2t5 

and  the  Princess  may  be  seen  in  her  high  water- 
boots,  walking  leisurely  through  the  thin  edge  of 


THE    PRINCESSES,    VICTORIA    AND    MAUD.    OF    WALES. 

the  water  as  it  creeps  up  and  along  the  shore.     Per- 
haps, who  can  tell,  the  scene  reminds  them  of  those 


£l6  0UR    ROYAL    NEIGHBORS   AT   SANDRINGHAM. 

merry  days  of  old,  and  they  tell  over  again  to 
make  the  royal  children  laugh,  some  remembered 
incident,  perhaps  of  old  granny's  dance,  or  the 
landlord's  relationship. 

They  are  easily  moved  to  smiles  and  laughter, 
these  happy,  healthy  children  in  whom  the  spirit 
of  fun  and  enjoyment  seems  to  be  re-kindled  with 
added  force.  Prince  George  is  the  mainspring  of 
all  the  frolic  and  fun  that  goes  on  at  Sandringham, 
at  Christmas  and  other  times.  He  is  a  good  speci- 
men of  English  boyhood,  strong,  active,  and  brim- 
ful of  mischief.  His  elder  brother,  known  here  by 
his  pet  home  name  "Prince  Eddy,"  is  more  thought- 
ful and  studious,  though  now  and  again  Prince 
George's  spirit  seems  to  infect  him.  With  both, 
Mr.  Beck,  the  agent,  is  a  great  favorite.  I  am 
almost  ashamed  to  tell  how  they  bestowed  upon 
him  the  soubriquet  of  "Old  Satan"  —  wherefore,  I 
cannot  imagine,  for  nothing  more  anti-Satanic 
than  his  jovial,  weather-bronzed  face  can  be  con- 
ceived. They  used  to  delight  in  waylaying  him 
with  snow-balls,  and  in  making  him  the  subject  of 
all  sorts  of  pranks.     And  yet  they  have  a  care  for 


OUR    ROYAL    NEIGHBORS    AT    SANDRINGHAM.   217 

his  comfort,  for  at  luncheon  Prince  George  has 
heaped  his  plate  up  with  dainties,  thinking  he  cared 
for,  and  yet  could  not  get  them  at  home !  And 
they  have  a  regard  for  his  appearance  too,  advis- 
ing him  as  to  the  kind  of  collars  he  should  wear, 
and  on  one  occasion  Prince  George  went  so  far  as 
to  re-tie  his  necktie  for  him.  When  the  two  Princes 
returned  from  their  travels,  which  all  the  world 
has  read  of,  they  brought  "  Old  Satan  "  a  couple  of 
ostrich's  eggs  from  Jerusalem,  which  Prince  George 
declared  he  had  actually  seen  laid  !  The  eggs,  duly 
mounted  on  appropriate  stands,  occupy  a  promi- 
nent position  in  the  pretty  drawing-room  of  the 
agent's  house.  This  house  is  a  sort  of  common 
ground  to  our  royal  neighbors.  Standing  in  the 
quaint  entrance  hall  with  its  mistress,  it  is  easy  to 
conjure  up  some  of  the  many  pictures  of  royal  in- 
vasions as  she  describes  them.  First,  the  Princess 
and  her  dogs  enter  on  some  windy  November  day 
amidst  a  splash  of  rain,  and  a  whirl  of  dry  leaves. 
Then,  some  of  the  children  come  clamoring  for 
"  Beck,"  suppressing  the  nickname  in  the  presence 
of  their  mother.     Or  the  Prince  rides  up  to  the  door 


2l8  0UR    ROYAL    NEIGHBORS   AT   SANDRINGHAM. 

with  the  same  demand.  From  the  frequent  calls 
upon  him,  one  would  imagine  that  nothing  could 
be  done  successfully  unless  Beck  is  to  the  fore. 

And  then  those  Christmases  at  Sandringham  !  In 
November  they  entertain  the  county  at  a  succession 
of  balls  for  gentry,  tenants,  and  servants.  The 
old  hall  is  ablaze  with  lights,  long  processions  of 
carriages  roll  down  the  avenue,  merry  music  sounds, 
and  all  is  mirth  —  to  the  royal  party  at  any  rate, 
though  many  a  young  and  awkward  little  country 
debutante  may  shiver  and  shake  in  her  shoes  at  the 
thought  of  entering  the  awful  presence  of  royalty. 
Not  so  her  elders,  however,  for  to  this  end  have 
they  schemed  and  contrived,  and  burned  with  envy 
of  more  fortunate  neighbors  who,  for  a  succession 
of  seasons  have  had  the  entree  of  Sandringham. 
But  the  height  of  their  ambition  is  attained  at  last, 
the  magic  bidding  has  been  given  and  here  they 
are,  shivering  amidst  their  furs,  for  the  snow  lies 
white  without  the  carriage  windows  (the  first  snow  of 
the  season  generally  falls  on  the  night  of  the  San- 
dringham ball),  but  what  matter  cold  and  fatigue  ? 
This  night  will  set  the  seal  to  their  social  position. 


OUR   ROYAL    NEIGHBORS   AT   SANDRINGHAM.   219 

Christmas  at  Sandringham  is  essentially  a  home 
Christmas,  a  celebration  of  the  great  and  univer- 
sal children's  day,  for,  and  with  the  royal  children. 
There  are  always  Christmas-tree  parties,  too,  and 
dances,  and  theatricals,  at  some  of  which  little 
friends  of  my  own  are  accustomed  to  meet  the  three 
young  Princesses.  "  And  what  do  they  say  to 
you  ? "    I  asked  one  of  them,  with  great  gravity. 

"O,  they  just  ask  the  same  questions  that  other 
children  do,  only  more  of  them.  They  want  to 
know  what  we  do  at  school,  what  lessons  we  have 
to  learn,  what  we  have  to  eat,  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing,  you  know.  But  they  seem  most  curious  about 
school,  because  they  cannot  quite  imagine  what  'go- 
ing to  school  is  like.' " 

But  when  Christmas  night  settles  down  over  the 
great  heath  which  lies  all  around  and  about  Sand- 
ringham, and  darkness  clouds  the  distant  sea  ; 
when  there  is  an  icy  edge  to  the  keen  air,  and  the 
stars  shine  out  with  extra  brightness  ;  when  there 
is  warmth  on  every  hearth  in  all  the  model  cot- 
tages, and  only  the  churches  stand  dark  and  still 
in  the  cold  winter  night,  how  redly  the  lights  gleam 


220  0UR    ROYAL    NEIGHBORS   AT   SANDRINGHAM. 

behind  all  the  windows  of  the  Hall !  Ever)-  one  out- 
side has  been  cared  for,  many  a  happy  Christmas 
has  been  made  secure,  and  now  the  Prince  and 
Princess  keep  theirs  lightheartedly  with  their  chil- 
dren and  guests.  The  two  tall  striplings  —  for  they 
are  almost  young  men  now — Prince  Eddy,  and 
Prince  George,  rush  forward  in  friendly  rivalry  to 
secure  the  honor  of  conducting  their  mother  to  din- 
ner. They  are  almost  like  lovers  —  those  two  tall 
youths  —  so  passionately  are  they  devoted  to  the 
beautiful  and  young  looking  "  Sea-King's  Daughter 
from  over  the  sea."  Neither  being  first,  and  neither 
winning  preference,  the  Princess  goes  gayly  to  the 
dining-hall  between  them.  After  them  comes  the 
Prince  with  his  bonny  group  of  "daughters  ;  the  por- 
traits given  here  of  the  young  princesses  are  from 
home  photographs.  There  was  a  grand  distribu- 
tion of  gifts  at  the  breakfast  table  in  the  morning, 
and  you  maybe  sure  that  "Old  Satan"  had  re- 
ceived his  usual  summons  up  to  the  Hall  to  get 
something  very  especial.  And  after  dinner  comes 
the  frolic.  Snap-dragon  has  been  one  of  the  favor- 
ite amusements,  but  so  serious  did  it  like  to  prove 


OUR    ROYAL    NEIGHBORS    AT    SANDRINGHAM.  22  I 

one  year  that  I  do  not  believe  it  still  continues  in 
favor.  Some  of  the  burning  spirit  fell  upon  the 
dress  of  the  Princess  who  might  have  been  badly 
burnt  but  for  the  presence  of  mind  of  Sir  Dykin 
Probyn,  who  promptly  extinguished  it. 

So  time  passes  with  our  royal  neighbors,  and  the 
years  roll  on.  God  grant  that  many  more  have  yet 
to  pass  before  they  will  be  called  upon  to  give  up 
their  cosey  home  at  Sandringham  to  enter  upon  the 
greater  splendor  of  the  Throne. 


AN  ARGENTINE  INDE- 
PENDENCE DAY. 

WISH  you  were  going  with  me  shooting  on 
the  Parana  to-morrow,"  said  the  U.  S. 
Consul,  one  May-day,  "but  I  know  you  ought  to 
stay  in  Buenos  Ayres.  To-morrow  is  the  national 
holiday,  the  25  de  Mayo,  and  you  want  to  know 
how  they  celebrate  here.  I've  been  through  it  two 
or  three  times  myself." 

"O,  to-morrow  will  be  the  Argentine  Fourth  of 
July?"  said  I. 

"  Yes  ;  or  one  of  them,  rather.  On  that  day  of  the 
year  18 10  the  Argentines  deposed  the  last  of  the 
Spanish  viceroys.  But  they  did  not  formallv  de- 
clare their  independence  till  July  9,  18 16,  and  if 
you  stay  here  a  few  weeks  you  will  see  to-morrow's 
doings  repeated." 

Two  days  a  year  set  apart  as  sacred  to  gun- 


AN   ARGENTINE    INDEPENDENCE    DAY.  223 

powder !  And  both  coming  in  the  Southern  winter 
when  bonfires  would  not  be  unseasonable  !  How 
black-eyed  Argentine  boys  must  commiserate  the 
young  patriots  of  poor  one-horse  Yankee-land! 
So  I  thought  as  I  left  the  consul's  office,  to  stroll 
about  the  great  strange  city  of  the  South,  already 
bustling  with  preparations  —  a  city  which  might 
have  celebrated  the  completion  of  its  first  century 
when  yet  hardly  a  beginning  had  been  made  of  the 
city  of  Boston. 

Discordant  blasts  from  cows'  horns,  used  by  the 
drivers  on  the  many  tramways,  filled  the  air;  above 
the  din  I  could  sometimes  hear  a  newsboy's  cry: 
"La  Protest  a !  Republica,  Nation!  Cindad!"  I 
soon  found  myself  in  the  great  plaza  Victoria, 
about  which  were  grouped  the  principal  buildings, 
including  the  beautiful  cathedral  and  the  cabildo, 
or  capitol.  I  noticed  that  the  Argentines  had  a 
pretty  way  of  naming  streets  and  of  making  parks 
and  plazas,  as  we  build  monuments,  to  commem- 
orate important  events  in  the  country's  history. 
There  was  the  street  of  "  the  Defence,"  of  "  the 
Re-conquest,"  and  of  the  "  6th  of  July,"  and  there 


224  AN   ARGENTINE    INDEPENDENCE   DAY- 

was  the  plaza  "  25  de  Mayo."  The  latter  was 
separated  from  the  plaza  Victoria  by  a  long  Moor- 
ish-looking arcade  with  a  triumphal  arch  in  the 
middle.  This  arcade  was  already  gay  with  the 
flags  of  every  nation  ;  and  over  them  all  the  blue 
and  white  flag  of  the  republic,  a  golden  sun  in  the 
middle  stripe  of  white.  And  if  I  had  not  perceived 
by  this  that  the  Argentines  considered  their  country 
as  important  as  the  United  States,  I  should  have 
learned  it  from  a  little  bootblack  in  the  lofty  ar- 
cades of  the  cabildo. 

"  From  what  country  are  you,  senor  ?  "  he  asked 
in  Spanish,  as  he  finished  one  shoe. 

"  I  am  an  American,"  I  replied. 

u Americano  V  he  flashed  back  quickly.  "  Loy 
Americano  tambien.  listed  es  iVord  Americano" 
(I  am  an  American,  too.  You  are  a  North  Amer- 
ican.) 

I  noticed,  however,  that  the  boys  of  the  city  did 
not  go  about  with  the  look  of  joyful  anticipation 
that  they  wear  with  us  on  the  eve  of  Independ- 
ence Day,  nor  did  their  pockets  bulge  with  the 
materials  of  explosive  fun.     I  soon  saw  th.u  it  was 


AN   ARGENTINE   INDEPENDENCE   DAY.  225 

to  be  the  holiday  rather  of  men  and  women ;  and,  that 
while  elaborate  provisions  were  being  made  for  illu- 
minations, fireworks,  and  noise,  the  authorities  un- 
dertook to  furnish  the  people  with  those  amuse- 
ments, and  reserved  to  themselves  the  supreme 
felicity  of  touching  the  match.  Had  young  South 
America  obtained  a  firecracker  (and  I  do  not  know 
where  he  could  have  found  one),  I  doubt  whether 
he  would  have  dared  to  fire  it ;  for  on  every  cor- 
ner stood  a  swarthy  whiskered  policeman,  armed 
with  revolver  and  sword-like  machete,  looking  terri- 
bly alert. 

The  next  morning  I  was  awakened  at  dawn  by  a 
mad  clangor  of  church  bells  all  over  the  city.  The 
Merced  church  was  next  the  hotel,  and,  sitting  in 
bed,  I  could  see  its  glittering  dome  and  tall  oriental 
tower,  where  the  ringer  stood  gesticulating  like  a 
conjurer,  as  he  rang.  The  clangor  ceased  after 
a  while,  and  then  I  could  hear  the  trumpets  at  the 
different  posts  around  the  city,  sounding  a  reveille. 

After  dressing  I  went  up  to  the  broad  prome- 
nade on  the  housetop,  called  by  the  Argentines 
the  azotea.     The  sun,  arisen,  was  saluting  his  gilded 


220         AN   ARGENTINE    INDEPENDENCE   DAY. 

likeness  on  innumerable  flags,  but  there  was  still  a 
breath  of  frost  on  the  tiles  of  the  roof,  and  the  air 
was  October  like  —  an  improvement  surely,  on  our 
Fourth  with  the  mercury  in  the  nineties. 

There  had  been  an  artillery  salute  at  sunrise, 
joined  in  by  the  men-of-war  anchored  in  the  river, 
and  for  a  while  showers  of  bombs,  sent  up  from  the 
plaza  25  de  Majv,kept  up  quite  a  homelike  crack- 
ling ;  but  all  presently  became  again  silent.  Just 
then  I  heard  a  hearty  English  voice  behind  me. 

"  Ah !  I've  found  you.  What  doing  here  ?  Come 
down  to  the  central  pier,  if  you  want  to  prome- 
nade—  you  can  have  two  thousand  feet  straight 
away,  and  not  need  to  face  about  every  half  minute." 

I  turned,  and  saw  a  young  Englishman  named 
Hanley,  whom  I  had  met  at  dinner  the  night  be- 
fore, and  who,  from  his  year's  experience  in  the 
country,  promised  to  be  an  entertaining  friend. 

"  I  had  begun  to  think  this  might  be  an  ancient 
Spanish  or  Moorish  city,  after  all,"  I  said,  "or  even 
a  dream.-" 

"As  to  that,"  said  Hanley,  "I  can  show  you 
houses  and  churches  here  that  were  built  at  a  period 


AN   ARGENTINE    INDEPENDENCE    DAY.  227 

much  nearer  to  the  times  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella 
than  to  our  own." 

From  the  end  of  the  pier,  we  had  a  fine  view  of 
the  old  vice-regal  fort,  at  present  used  as  a  custom 
house.  Its  arcades  formed  of  more  than  a  hun- 
dred arches  still  was  imposing;  but  another  long 
pier,  with  railings  leading  right  up  to  the  open 
portal  of  the  fort,  showed  to  what  uses  it  had 
fallen. 

"  Being  a  Yankee,  you  may  be  glad  to  know  that 
our  crosses  of  St.  George  and  St.  Andrew  had  to  be 
lowered  from  that  fort  once,"  said  my  British  com- 
panion. "We  have  the  consolation  of  knowing 
that  you  had  the  French  to  help  you  gain  your  in- 
dependence of  us,  but  these  fellows  drove  us  away 
single-handed." 

"When  did  that  happen?"  I  said,  ashamed  of 
my  ignorance  of  South  American  history. 

"  In  1806  and  1807.  Of  course  we  had  Napoleon 
on  our  hands  at  the  time ;  but  that  does  not  alter 
the  fact  that  we  were  driven  out  before  we  were 
hardly  seated  in  the  place.  And  when  General 
Whitelock  tried  to  recapture  the  city  his  army  was 


226  AN   ARGENTINE    INDEPENDENCE   DAY. 

literally  cut  to  pieces  —  brave  fellows,  these  Argen- 
tines, without  doubt." 

"Was  the  fighting  done  in  the  city!" 

"A  great  deal  of  it.  That  Moorish  arcade  so 
decorated  with  flags  to-day  —  the  Recoba  Vieja,  they 
call  it  —  was  the  scene  of  one  battle;  and  White- 
lock's  army  was  defeated  in  the  streets,  after  he 
thought  the  Argentine  army  routed.  The  name  of 
the  plaza,  Victoria,  was  given  to  it  in  honor  of  that 
victory.  The  people  are  proud  to  this  day  because 
their  ancestors  whipped  us.  Over  there,  in  the 
church  of  San  Domingo,  they  keep  the  flags  they 
captured  from  us  ;  and  you  may  see  cannon-balls 
imbedded  in  its  walls,  where  the  Argentines  fired 
into  their  own  church  to  compel  the  surrender  of 
some  of  our  fellows  who  had  seized  it.  When- 
ever the  church  receives  a  coat  of  whitewash,  the 
balls  are  painted  black." 

"But  this  didn't  happen  in  their  war  for  inde- 
pendence ?  "  I  queried,  still  confused. 

"  O,  no.  Still,  a  people  who  could  handle  us 
didn't  find  it  a  very  hard  matter  to  win  when  the 
struggle  came  with  Spain,  a  little  later.     But  the 


AN    ARGENTINK    INDEPENDENCE    DAY.'         229 

President  attends  Te  Deum  in  the  cathedral  this 
morning,  and  reviews  the  troops.  We  must  see  it." 
Although  it  was  still  early,  when  we  re-entered 
the  city  we  found  the  streets  filled  with  people 
going  toward  the  cathedral.  The  national  colors 
were  shown  everywhere  —  no  house  too  poor  to 
contribute  to  the  general  display.  Windows  and 
balconies  were  everywhere  draped  with  blue  and 
white ;  and  the  colors  were  caught  up  by  rosettes 
under  the  archways  and  over  the  portals,  to  hang 
in  festoons  against  the  pale  yellow  walls  of  the 
buildings.  At  the  plaza  Victoria,  Church  and  State 
had  vied  with  each  other  in  the  adornment  of  the 
cathedral  and  the  cabildo,  and  the  balconies  of  the 
latter  and  the  great  portico  of  the  former  were 
filled  with  people  overlooking  the  larger  and  less 
fortunate  concourse  in  the  plaza.  A  row  of  balco- 
nies close  to  the  sidewalk,  was  filled  with  young 
girls  and  stately  ladies,  all  selling  articles  for  the 
benefit  of  some  charity  connected  with  the  church. 
The  liquid  Spanish  of  their  persuasions  was  most 
melodious,  as  with  their  wax-like  fingers  they  rolled 
cigarillos  for  purchasers. 


230         AN    ARGENTINE    INDEPENDENCE   DAY. 

And  now  the  clear  notes  of  a  trumpet  rang  forth 
from  the  open  tower  of  the  cabildo,  and  answers 
came  like  echoes  from  countless  distant  points. 
We  could  see  the  soldier  who  blew  the  signal 
standing  there,  his  gay  uniform  and  the  broad  gold- 
fringed  pennon  of  his  trumpet  giving  him  the 
appearance  of  a  herald  calling  knights  to  some 
mediaeval  tournament.  The  trumpet  continued  to 
blow  at  intervals,  and  we  could  hear  quick,  imper- 
ative drum-taps  and  strains  of  approaching  music. 

A  company  of  zouaves  appeared  and  cleared  a 
passage  to  the  central  door  of  the  cathedral, 
approaching  briskly  with  rifles,  the  sabre-bayonets 
fixed.  The  first  regiment  that  followed  was  a  com- 
pany of  trumpeters  on  horseback,  and  next  came  a 
regiment  of  mounted  lancers,  their  bright  blades 
gleaming  aloft,  blood-red  pennons  fluttering  gayly 
below  ;  their  seat  in  the  saddle  was  most  knightly 
and  the'horses  tinkled  their  trappings  and  curvetted 
proudly.  Then  came  regiment  after  regiment  of 
plain  every-day  zouaves,  batteries  of  artillery,  and 
companies  of  mounted  carbineers. 

I  could  not  help  noting  the  youth  of  many  of  the 


AN   ARGENTINE    INDEPENDENCE   DAY.  231 

soldiers.  If  the  boys  of  Buenos  Ayres  were  lack- 
ing among  the  spectators,  they  were  present  in  the 
ranks  —  I  saw  some  young  orderlies  and  lieuten- 
ants who  looked  hardly  sixteen  years  old.  One 
dark,  handsome  young  fellow,  with  the  shoulder- 
straps  of  a  captain,  seemed  particularly  proud  of 
his  command. 

All  the  military  evolutions  were  directed  by  the 
trumpet  of  the  herald  in  the  tower ;  and  the  com- 
mands, given  in  mellow  notes  from  the  bugles  of 
the  different  regiments,  rang  out  most  musically 
over  the  rattling  drumbeats  and  strains  of  the  wild 
impetuous  Argentine  march.  The  plaza  was  nearly 
filled  with  bright  uniforms,  nodding  plumes,  and 
glittering  bayonets,  when  the  state  carriage  of  the 
President  appeared  with  its  guard  of  honor.  It 
was  an  immense  vehicle  of  antiquated  pattern,  dec- 
orated with  the  national  colors,  its  panels  pale 
blue  with  white  mouldings,  the  arms  of  the  nation 
gilded  upon  its  doors;  and  within  we  could  see  the 
President,  General  Roca,  resting  comfortably  upon 
cushions  of  blue  and  white  satin. 

Very  unrepublican,  yet  brilliant  and  impressive, 


232  AN   ARGENTINE    INDEPENDENCE   DAY. 

were  the  services  in  the  cathedral.  I  could  not 
help  recalling  to  mind  tales  of  the  proud  days  of 
the  rule  of  Spain,  and  for  the  moment  the  soldierly 
President  became  the  humble  viceroy  of  a  great 
Catholic  kingdom.  The  subdued  organ-tones  and 
chanted  Latin  service,  the  splendid  vestments  of 
the  priests,  headed  by  the  gray-haired  archbishop, 
the  purple  robe  of  the  Pope's  legate,  who  had  the 
seat  of  honor  among  the  ambassadors  —  all  seemed 
to  belong  to  that  other  and  long,  long  bygone  time. 

The  nave  of  the  cathedral  was  set  apart  for  the 
President  and  officers  of  state,  together  with  the 
diplomatic  corps.  I  ran  my  eye  over  the  bright 
uniforms  and  decorations  of  the  latter,  till  I  came 
to  our  own  minister's  plain  blue  uniform  of  a 
major-general,  and  I  rather  liked  its  quiet  dignity. 
Farther  down,  in  contrast,  a  young  secretary  of 
legation  absolutely  blazed  in  a  fur-trimmed  Magyar 
costume  of  scarlet  and  gold,  plumed  fez,  and  great 
cavalry  boots  with  gilded  spurs  of  enormous  length. 

After  the  Te  Dcum,  came  a  review  by  the  Presi- 
dent with  more  bomb  and  artillery  salutes,  and 
then  the  elaborate  mid-day  breakfast. 


AN    ARGENTINE    INDEPENDENCE    DAY.  233 

In  the  afternoon  everybody  seemed  to  be  going 
to  the  pretty  park  3  de  Febrero,  a  few  miles  up  the 
river.  The  drive  was  filled  with  carriages,  and 
railway  coaches  and  trains  were  crowded — the 
latter  even  to  the  roofs,  where  young  men  sat  and 
serenely  puffed  cigarettes  and  dodged  and  ducked 
to  avoid  the  overhanging  street  decorations.  At 
the  park  we  enjoyed  rifle  matches  and  horse-races 
(  no  bull-fights,  I  am  glad  to  say)  and,  not  least  by 
any  means,  the  fine,  broad  avenue  of  palms,  for 
carriage  driving  and  promenading.  At  the  athletic 
grounds  a  game  of  football  came  off  between  the 
Zingara  club  and  a  picked  team.  Hanley  took  part 
in  this  at  the  solicitations  of  some  who  knew  of 
the  former's  prowess  at  Rugby  and  Oxford,  and 
wanted  him  to  "  show  the  natives  a  dodge  or  two." 
In  fact  the  picked  team  were  mostly  young  English- 
men, and  the  Zingaras  were  badly  beaten. 

In  the  evening  the  plazas  Victoria  and  25  de 
Mayo  were  again  thronged  to  witness  the  illumina- 
tion and  display  of  fireworks.  The  Recoba  Vieja, 
cathedral  and  cabildo  were  brightly  outlined  with 
glittering  gas  jets,  which  followed  every  detail  of 


234  AN   ARGENTINE    INDEPENDENCE   DAY. 

the  architecture  to  the  highest  pinnacle.  Wonder- 
ful ingenuity  had  been  spent  in  leading  the  lines  of 
scintillating  lights  about  the  plazas,  over  the  foun- 
tains; and  the  Monument  of  the  Victory  showed 
all  its  carvings  and  letterings  outlined  in  flame. 

The  fireworks  were,  however,  but  a  repetition  of 
the  noisy  bombs  of  the  morning,  varied  with  set 
pieces  of  enormous  size,  which  would  not  always  go 
off  properly.  One,  which  seemed  to  please  the  sim- 
ple fancy  of  the  people,  was  an  exact  counterpart  of 
the  cabildo,  in  colored  fires ;  but  the  great  venerable 
building  itself,  sparkling  with  myriads  of  lights,  was 
more  attractive  to  me.  From  its  roof  would  be  sent 
at  short  intervals,  large  fire  balloons,  showing  alter- 
nate squares  of  blue  and  white,  often  varied  by  one 
bearing  the  red  and  yellow  of  Mother  Spain.  The 
wind  hurried  them  away  over  the  river,  and  over  the 
fleet  whose  lights  twinkled  ten  miles  away.  We 
could  watch  the  lengthening  procession  made  by 
the  fires  in  the  balloons,  until  each  blaze  shrank  to 
a  trembling  star,  and  then  vanished  ;  and  we  won- 
dered if  any  of  them  would  reach  the  shores  of  Uru- 
guay.    A  boy  came  near  us  with  a  string  of  com- 


AN   ARGENTINE    INDEPENDENCE    DAY.  235 

mon  toy  balloons.  His  great  round  eyes  looked 
so  sleepy,  and,  like  the  other  boys  of  the  city,  he 
seemed  to  take  such  a  languid  interest  in  what  went 
on  around  him,  that  I  said  to  Hanley  that  it  would 
be  very  easy  for  us  to  send  up  our  quota  of  bal- 
loons by  cutting  his  string.     "  We'll  do  it,"  said  he. 

He  called  the  boy,  and  asked  him  in  Spanish 
the  price  of  a  balloon.     "  Five  pesos,  senor." 

"  How  many  have  you  left  ?  " 

"  Six,  senor." 

"  And  how  much  for  the  lot  ? " 

"  Forty  pesos,  senor." 

I  laughed.  But  Hanley  said,  "  Oh,  that  is  gen- 
uine Spanish  bargaining.  The  more  you  buy,  the 
greater  the  price." 

With  a  stroke  of  his  pocket-knife,  Hanley  cut 
every  string;  and  the  little  red  globes  soared  away, 
bobbing  over  the  roofs,  and  were  gone. 

Hanley  stood  holding  out  the  money,  but  the 
little  fellow  could  not  see  it,  he  was  so  overcome 
with  astonishment  and  anger.  His  eyes  dilated 
until  they  seemed  twice  as  large  and  twice  as  black  ; 
phoking  with  passion,  he  could  only  say : 


236  AN   ARGENTINE    INDEPENDENCE   DAY. 

"SdiorU" 

But  when  the  trifling  joke  did  dawn  upon  his 
sluggish  brain,  he  acted  as  if  he  would  like  to  laugh, 
but  unfortunately  had  never  learned  how.  The 
expression  on  his  face  was  very  funny.  At  last  an 
idea  seemed  to  seize  him  —  here  was  a  market  for 
balloons  —  and  he  hurried  away  to  hunt  up  some 
of  his  fellow  dealers;  seeing  which,  we  withdrew. 

The  evening's  exhibition  closed  with  an  ear- 
rending,  earth-shaking  salute  of  giant  torpedoes. 
It  was  still  early  ;  but  I  thought  that  every  one, 
even  the  young  people,  seemed  relieved,  and  they 
departed  homeward  with  the  air  of  patriots  who 
had  performed  all  that  their  country  could  ask. 


THE    ALPS    AND    THEIR 
AVALANCHES 

^  VERY  young  geographer  has  read  of  the  Alps, 
■■ — '  that  vast  mountain-system  of  Southern  Eu- 
rope whose  main  mass  extends  across  the  whole 
southern  portion  of  Switzerland.  The  Alps,  so 
named  from  the  fact  that  their  tops  are  covered 
with  eternal  snows  —  the  word  "  alp "  meaning 
white  —  comprise  various  clusters,  or  knots,  of 
mountains  from  which  diverge  numerous  moun- 
tain-ranges running  many  miles,  east  or  west, 
north  or  south  from  the  central  knots. 

Each  of  these  long  ranges  has  its  special  name  ; 
as  the  Bernese  Alps,  the  Pennine  Alps,  the  Mari- 
time Alps,  the  Carnic  Alps.  Each  of  the  princi- 
pal peaks  is  likewise  distinguished  by  a  name  ; 
among  the  famous  ones  are  Mont  Blanc,  Monte 
Rosa,  and  Mont  Cervin  ;  these  are  the  three  high- 
237 


238         THE   ALPS    AND    THEIR   AVALANCHES. 

est  peaks  in  Europe,  Mont  Blanc,  the  loftiest  of 
all,  being  more  than  fifteen  thousand  feet  above 
the  level  of  the  sea.  Rising  from  an  immense 
lake  of  ice,  are  the  no  less  celebrated  Jungfrau, 
Schreckhorn,  and  Wetterhorn  (pronounced  as  if  it 
began  with  a  V).  There  are,  besides,  a  host  of 
other  peaks  well  known  to  both  student  and  tour- 
ist. 

An  Alpine  mountain  has  four  natural  divisions  : 
the  lower  region,  the  wooded  region,  the  alp,  or 
pasture  region,  and  the  rocky  region.  Let  us 
climb  one. 

We  leave  the  valley,  and  by  a  steep,  bushy 
ascent  soon  reach  the  lower  region.  Here,  we  do 
not  see  many  trees  ;  but  beautiful  vineyards  and 
quaint  little  cottages,  called  by  the  Swiss  chalets, 
are  scattered  along  the  gently-undulating  declivity 
which,  in  some  places,  is  crossed  by  roads  con- 
necting two  valleys. 

Trudging  up,  up,  up,  we  find  the  slope  begins 
to  grow  steep,  and  that  we  are  not  very  directly 
approaching  the  wooded  region,  for  these  extensive 
Alpine  forests  do  not  wholly  engirdle  a  mountain. 


A  SWISS 

CHALET.  —  AT 
MILKING-TIME 


THE   ALPS   AND   THEIR    AVALANCHES.         24I 

So  we  must  make  a  detour,  as  the  French  say, 
must  take  a  circuitous  route  —  which  will  lead  us 
to  the  back  of  the  mountain,  where  we  shall  enter 
a  big  forest  which  climbs  half-way  up  the  slope. 
There  is  a  great  variety  of  trees  ;  fine  oaks,  tall 
firs  and  pines,  birch-trees,  beech-trees,  and  any 
quantity  of  sweet  chestnuts. 

Traversing  the  length  of  the  wooded  region, 
which  is  about  one  third  of  the  width  of  the  moun- 
tain, we  emerge  into  the  open  air,  where  a  magnifi- 
cent prospect  awaits  us.  We  are  now  pretty  far 
up,  and  we  can  see  somewhat  of  the  beauty  and 
grandeur  of  the  Alps.  We  look  upon  huge  tower- 
ing rocks  half-covered  with  lichens  and  mosses ; 
we  see  vast  torrents  pouring  with  great  noise 
down  from  the  glaciers  ;  here  are  lovely  cascades 
and  waterfalls ;  here  are  frightful  ravines,  strewn 
with  the  fragments  of  fallen  rocks ;  and  every- 
where and  all  around,  is  an  upheaving  sea  of 
giant  mountains,  whose  dazzling  crests  glitter  with 
a  strange  brightness  in  the  sunshine.  At  the  same 
time,  looking  down  into  the  valleys,  we  behold 
rich  vineyards,  green    fields,  apple  orchards  gay 


242         THE   ALPS   AND   THEIR    AVALANCHES. 

with  pink-white  blossoms,  cosey  villages  with  gar- 
dens, and  picturesque  chalets. 

Now  we  are  in  the  pasture  region.  This  is  the 
"garden  spot"  of  an  Alpine  mountain.  Upon 
these  fine  pastures  browse  flocks  and  herds  of 
sheep,  cattle,  and  goats  ;  and  if  we  hunt  for  them, 
we  shall  find  no  end  of  beautiful  flowers.  Lovely 
rhododendrons,  or  Alpine  roses,  grow  in  profusion ; 
saxifrages,  purple  and  white,  spring  from  the  clefts 
of  the  rocks  ;  gay  euphrasias  and  rich  blue  gen- 
tians peep  out  at  us  from  the  vivid  green. 

As  we  turn  a  sudden  angle  in  the  path,  we 
come  upon  a  homely  hut,  before  which  is  clustered 
a  group  of  bareheaded  and  barefooted  children. 
Many  a  herdsman,  with  his  family,  resides  in  the 
pasture  region  during  the  summer  months,  in 
order  that  his  sheep  or  goats,  pigs  or  cows,  may 
have  the  grand  chance  to  grow  fat  upon  the  moun- 
tain grass,  which  is  very  nourishing,  and  although 
it  is  quite  short,  I  dare  say  that  the  lucky  cows 
which  have  fed  upon  it  would  be  willing  to  declare, 
if  they  could  speak,  that  it  was  most  deliciously 
sweet.       These    mountain    herdsmen    are    rather 


THE   ALPS   AND    THEIR    AVALANCHES.  245 

given  to  perching  their  huts  on  the  edge  of  a 
precipice,  and  seem  to  choose,  when  they  can,  a 
rocky  ledge  overhanging  a  lake  !  They  have 
been  well  called  the  "children  of  the  air." 

Above  the  pasture  region  rises  the  rocky  region; 
and  this  goes  up  to  the  crest  of  the  mountain 
which,  on  the  higher  peaks,  is  covered  all  the 
year  round  with  masses  of  mingled  snow  and  ice, 
called  glaciers.  These  glaciers  are  perhaps  the 
most  remarkable  feature  of  the  Alps,  some  of 
them  being  of  such  vast  extent  as  to  invade  the 
largest  valleys  for  a  long  distance.  These  great 
fields  of  ice  are  the  source  of  many  of  the  larger 
rivers  that  water  Europe. 

Another  mighty  feature  of  this  wonderful  moun- 
tain region  is  its  avalanches,  which  occur  very  fre- 
quently, their  roar  at  the  base  of  the  Jungfrau 
being  almost  incessant.  There  is  not  one  boy  or 
girl  geographer  in  ten  I  presume  who  has  not 
read  of  Alpine  avalanches  ;  but  perhaps  also  not 
one  of  you  in  ten  have  other  than  a  general  idea 
of  these  frightful  phenomena  —  masses  of  snow 
and  ice  sliding  with  wild  velocity  down  the  moun- 


246         THE    ALPS   AND   THEIR    AVALANCHES. 

tains.  But  this  is  only  one  sort  of  avalanche ; 
there  are  at  least  four  different  kinds  known  among 
the  Alps :  the  rolling,  the  sliding,  the  drift,  and 
the  glacier  avalanches. 

Do  not  jump  at  the  conclusion  that  the  glacier 
avalanche,  being  formed  of  solid  ice,  must  be  the 
most  dangerous  of  all.  This  is  not  the  case.  The 
glacier  avalanche  is  only  a  piece  of  loosened  ice 
which  comes  rushing  down  the  declivity,  with  a 
noise  like  thunder,  to  be  sure,  but  is  comparatively 
harmless,  as  it  is  generally  broken  in  small  pieces 
by  the  rocks  it  meets  in  its  descent  to  the  valley. 

No,  the  most  fearful  of  the  slides  is  the  rolling 
avalanche.  I  will  tell  you  how  it  is  formed.  You 
already  know  that  the  loftier  Alpine  peaks  are 
covered  with  snow  the  year  round.  Sometimes,  in 
the  spring,  in  the  soft  thawy  weather,  the  clamp 
grains  of  snow  cling  firmly  together  and  form  into 
hard  balls.  Whenever  one  of  these  balls  becomes 
heavy  enough,  it  begins  to  move  slowly  down  the 
declivity.  On  it  goes,  always  increasing  in  speed, 
over  a  field  of  snow,  getting,  of  course,  bigger  and 
bigger  at  every   turn,  for  being  very  damp   and 


THE   ALPS   AND   THEIR    AVALANCHES. 


249 


clammy,  it  collects  to  itself  the  snow  over  which  it 
passes,  and  before  it  reaches  the  valley  becomes 
a  mighty  and  immense  mass,  large  enough,  indeed, 
to  bury  up  a  whole  village.  Sometimes  such  a 
terrible  calamity  happens  ;  in  the  year  1749,  when 
one  of  these  dangerous  and  dreaded  rolling  ava- 
lanches descended  upon  a  village  in  the  valley  of 
Tawich,  it  actually  swept  it  from  its  site  and  then 
covered  it  completely.  You  will  think  it  must 
have  caused  general  ruin  and  death.  But  no  ;  it 
was  in  the  night,  and  it  was  done  so  quietly  that 
the  villagers  knew  nothing  of  their  misfortune  till 
morning  came,  when  they  began  to  wonder  why  it 
did  not  grow  light !  They  were  dug  out,  nearly 
all  of  them  alive. 

A  drift  avalanche,  or,  as  the  Swiss  call  it,  staut- 
lauineu,  most  generally  happens  just  after  a  heavy 
snow-storm,  when  the  wind  drives  the  loose  snow 
from  peak  to  peak,  and  whirls  it  down  in  vast 
quantities  into  the  valleys. 

A  sliding  avalanche  —  mtsch-lauineu  —  takes 
place  in  early  spring,  when  the  snow  at  the  sum- 
mit of  a  peak  melts,  and  a  great  patch  of  it  rushes 


25°         THE    ALPS    AND    THEIR   AVALANCHES. 

down  the  mountain  slope,  sweeping  away  every- 
thing in  its  path. 

Roads,  called  Passes,  have  been  constructed 
over  all  the  principal  mountain-chains,  connecting 
the  valleys,  and  in  some  instances,  countries. 
Some  of  these  roads  are  of  great  antiquity  and 
date  back  as  far  as  the  Romans,  and  many  sup- 
pose that  the  Carthagenian  general,  Hannibal, 
crossed  the  Pass  of  the  Little  St.  Bernard  on  his 
march  to  invade  Italy.  Some  of  the  Passes  are 
only  mule  paths ;  but  the  great  Napoleon  con- 
verted many  of  these  roads  into  magnificent  car- 
riage routes.  Such  are  the  Passes  of  the  Col  de 
Tende,  Mont  Genevre,  Mont  Cenis,  and  the 
famous  Simplon,  which  crosses  the  Pennine  Alps, 
one  of  the  loftiest  of  these  mountain  chains.  The 
Pass  of  the  Great  St.  Bernard  is  well  known  from 
the  Hospice  at  its  summit,  where  live  the  benevo- 
lent family  of  monks  who  devote  their  lives  to  the 
care  of  travellers.  It  is  also  from  this  Hospice 
that  the  sagacious  dogs  of  St.  Bernard  are  sent  out 
to  search  for  and  rescue  travellers  who  may  have 
been  overtaken  in  one  of  the  terrible  snow-storms 


;.Cr'  ■ 


A    SWISS   MOUNTAINEER, 


THE   ALPS   AND   THEIR    AVALANCHES.  253 

common  to  the  region.  The  Pass  over  Mont 
Cenis,  being  frequently  buried. up  by  avalanches, 
was  at  length  found  to  be  very  unreliable  as  a  road 
for  travel,  and  it  was  concluded  necessary  to  tun- 
nel the  Alps.  This  great  work  was  begun  in  1857 
and  ended  in  1870,  employing  thousands  of  men, 
day  and  night.     It  is  39,750  feet  long. 

A  still  longer  tunnel,  that  of  Mont  St.  Gothard, 
is  now  being  built.  When  completed  this  will  be 
ten  miles  long.  Think  of  a  ride  of  ten  miles  in 
darkness  and  tobacco  smoke  !  For  in  the  elegant 
cars  that  pass  through  the  Alps  smoking  is  allowed 
freely  —  only  one  car  in  every  train  being  marked 
Nicht  raachee  (no  smoking). 

The  Passes  of  the  Alps  are  generally  built  over 
the  lowest  traversible  part  of  a  mountain,  but 
some  of  them  attain  a  great  elevation.  The  Cer- 
vin,  the  highest  in  Europe,  at  one  point  is  more 
than  eleven  thousand  feet  above  the  level  of  the 
sea  —  a  dizzy  height. 

The  Swiss  peasant  is  fondly  attached  to  the 
giant  mountains  of  his  native  country.  He  de- 
lights  in   rambling  through  their  wild  solitudes, 


^54        THE   ALPS    AND    THEIR    AVALANCHES. 

and  his  sturdy  heart  swells  with  patriotic  pride 
when  he  rests  his  alpenstock  on  the  summit  of  one 
of  their  mighty  glaciers. 

Oliver  Goldsmith,  the  poet,  sings  of  him  : 

Cheerful,  at  morn,  he  wakes  from  short  repose, 
Breathes  the  keen  air,  and  carols  as  he  goes, 
******* 

At  night,  returning,  every  labor  sped, 
He  sits  him  down,  the  monarch  of  a  shed. 
******** 

Dear  is  that  shed  to  which  his  soul  conforms, 
And  dear  that  hill  that  lifts  him  to  the  storm, 
And  as  a  child,  when  scaring  sounds  molest 
Clings  close  and  closer  to  its  mother's  breast, 
So  the  loud  torrent  and  the  whirlwind's  roar, 
But  bind  him  to  his  native  mountains  more. 


UCSB    LIBRARY 


,  \W  ,    ^ 


